


Sanctum Elysium

by Syllis



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2019-11-08 09:37:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 42,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17978900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syllis/pseuds/Syllis
Summary: Silly drabbley things inspired by The Edged Lexicon byraunchyandpaunchyand by my favorite Skyrim player house mod, Elysium Estate.





	1. What's going on next door? Seems awfully busy.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raunchyandpaunchy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raunchyandpaunchy/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Edged Lexicon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15758052) by [raunchyandpaunchy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raunchyandpaunchy/pseuds/raunchyandpaunchy). 



> Currently in residence at Elysium Estate are: Ahtar the Executioner, Erdi (former Blue Palace Maid, now adventurer), and of course Justiciar Cyrelian, late of the Thalmor Embassy and currently on detached duty to further his education in Restoration. Cyrelian is wrapping up his final hours of teaching and practicing-under-supervision, and he is nearly finished with his final project. Or would be if not for these constant interruptions. OC's Alfgar the Dovahkiin and the inestimable Marcus make their own contributions.
> 
> Multiple spoilers for my own works-in-progress, as intended.

Marcus is nothing if not insistent.

“Will you lay off?” I finally snapped. “That’s insane.” When he refused to shut up about it, I stretched out and prodded Ahtar with my toes. 

Ahtar startled and opened his eyes, making a bit of a splash as his arms jerked. He’d been nearly asleep.

“Mph? What’s goin' on?” 

“Marcus is being delusional again,” I advised. “This time it’s about your pub.”

Ahtar grunted. He cupped a bit of the water in his hands to rinse the perspiration off his face, letting the water trickle down through his beard. He pushed himself up to sit on the rock outcropping of the hot spring, legs dangling down into the water. 

“You getting out?” I asked. I hoped not. My muscles were finally starting to unknot. I let myself submerge even further, up to my neck, which I hoped would serve as a hint.

“Nah. Cooling off a little.” Giving the lie to his words, he swung his legs on over the side and padded off towards the sideboard and its little cask of ale. He came back and sat in one of the nearby chairs to drink, watching me soak. 

Marcus, whom no one was attending, sighed with exasperation and sloshed his way from the steps to one of the unoccupied stone seats in the pool. His hair was stuck up all over his head in a lunatic’s snakelike curls. 

“There are a lot of people who come up and down that road,” Ahtar mused. “Some of them not till the next morning.”

“It’s a pub,” I said, wearily. “And it’s outside the city gates.” Nobody to keep watch and gossip, other than us, about a quarter-mile up with a lovely view of the main road from our vegetable garden. “Half the city of Whiterun probably comes down there to fool around on their spouses in its rooms to let.”

“There aren’t rooms to let there,” said Marcus, with great satisfaction. “I asked. Owner said it’s just a taproom. No bard or ‘other entertainment’ permitted up there, no meals, no rooms. Mead, ale, beer, snacks. That’s it.” He scowled at all of us: “Something funny’s going on there.”

“Sure Sabjorn just didn’t want you hanging around in there trolling for business?” I asked, which bought me a faceful of water.

I stood up at once, shaking it out of my eyes, but Marcus was already gone up out of the spring, down off its the steps and into the guest-house, leaving a trail of water as he went. The door slammed shut. I heard its latch slide to.

I groaned, looking at where Marcus had stepped in the wet grass, leaving muddy footprints all over our tiled path. Silently, Ahtar handed me up a towel. I dried myself off, and then went over to clean off the tile.

“He’s never going to leave it alone, you know,” I said.

Ahtar grunted in the affirmative.


	2. Someone should check that place out.

“Nice lock,” said Marcus, happily, after an interminable time spent noodling around with his little tools. “Done.” I immediately closed my hand, dousing the magelight. He pulled the heavy door open a tiny crack.

We waited. 

Ahtar was standing rearguard further down the long hallway; Erdi and a remarkably subdued Alfgar the Dovahkiin were up in the main taproom, keeping an eye on Sabjorn and the other workers. If they looked like they were headed off to the boiler-room, Erdi had some large purchases to make that would keep the Honningbrew staff occupied, whilst the Dovahkiin came to warn us. But, it was the middle of a Morndas afternoon-- I had begged the time off from Danica--a time when we knew Honningbrew's boilery-fires would be cold and the whole place would be slow as boiled-sap syrup.

Truthfully I hoped Erdi would conduct her distraction successfully; I was rather fond of Honningbrew mead, myself. If this little venture caused me to lose access to it, I would be quite upset. 

Over the previous week Marcus had sat up in the rafters of our cowshed to watch the road, taking careful notes of who came and went. Ahtar and Erdi and myself had been back to the Honningbrew Meadery, observing the place with new eyes. Erdi’d gone by the neighbors for this errand and that-- bartering some extra cheese for oat groats and so on--cheerfully gleaning what gossip there was to be had. 

Marcus had been correct in his observations. There were several individuals who went into the Honningbrew yard who did not emerge again until many hours past the time when it would have been reasonable for them to conclude a drinking-party with friends. At least two of them had close ties to the Dark Brotherhood, Marcus had said. One was a person whom he recognized, but refused to talk about. But whoever-it-was had him even more concerned. 

So was I. Having a known assassin’s guild in my backyard was certainly something that was going to detract from its quiet enjoyment. I was already taking mental notes for a letter of complaint to the jarl.

After that Erdi had come back home to regale us with the tales of what she’d learned. Following which, I resolved that if I ever intended to conduct some kind of semi-secret operation, I would do so in a city. Any city. But not out in the countryside, no. Not where everyone noses into each other’s business. Even that self-involved fool Nazeem seemed to know-- I digress.

Marcus was still of the opinion that we could be dealing with a dangerous criminal organization or some sort of Daedric cult. 

The other thing that everyone ought to know about living in the countryside is that all of its residents, in time, come to possess the unshakable belief that the neighbors are constantly getting up to sexual shenanigans, no matter how improbable this seems. Erdi'd had her ears filled with speculation about the deviant sexual peccadilloes being practiced by the visitors to the pub. Some of it alarming even to a former postulant of Dibella.

So the information that she had picked up seemed improbable, to say the least. 

But-- we had come to the reluctant conclusion that we had better go see for ourselves.

“Anything?” Ahtar said, in a tone so low that perhaps only rocks and myself could hear. I touched his arm to halt him. 

Marcus was still mage-sniffing, trying to sort out whatever magickal activity had taken place within. He pulled the door open further, inhaling deeply through his nose, face rapt and eyes closed. My feet were aching from the stone floor by the time his eyes finally again opened.

“Odd place,” Marcus said eventually. “I’m not picking up anything harmful-- I’m not sure it’s from magicka at all. It’s empty. Pretty sure it’s safe. Come on.”

We followed, picking our way through the dim. I stayed well behind the two of them, sending ball after ball of Magelight up to illuminate. From my vantage, I could see little.

Both of them came back in a hurry. Marcus’ face was blanched white.

“Let’s get Erdi,” said Ahtar, pleasantly, before Marcus could open his mouth to say anything. He held Marcus’ upper arm in a tight grip. “You hush,” he admonished. “Could be wrong about this place,” Ahtar said. “But I think I got the general idea. I need Erdi. Go get her.”

So I went back up through the boilery, out its side door and up over the fence. Then I walked along the back of the Honningbrew property, circumnavigating its bounds till I could walk through its front gate like any legitimate customer.

I waved Sabjorn off-- I didn’t need anything, and crossed over to Erdi and kissed her. 

“Missed you at home,” I said, softly. And: “Beautiful afternoon-- want to go for a walk?” I kissed her again, more lingering this time. Her fingers came up to cup the back of my head. 

If the tapman happened to be watching us, that was the only show he was going to see. My hand, screened from his view by my body, was giving the Dovahkiin a signal: Caution. Wait here. I caught Erdi’s hand and led her, rosy-cheeked, from the nearly-barren establishment as the Dovhakiin made a sour noise of disgruntlement at our little show of affection. He requested another pint of cider, and Sabjorn hurried to comply.


	3. My! These people certainly have a lot of toys.

“Well,” said Erdi, presently, at the sight. “It’s certainly not Dibellan, though-- ah-- I think there are some elements…” She knelt down to look at the manacled couch more closely. “More light?” she requested. Her fingers traced the soft padding on the cuffs.

I obliged and sent another couple of balls of Magelight in her direction. Hm. The floor was clean, around the couch. The couch was clean too, the leather freshly conditioned. Nothing here to disturb the sensibilities of a former palace maid-of-all-work.

Marcus hovered right behind me, irritatingly close to me.

“Get off my tail,” I said, without heat. I could somewhat understand his nerves. 

Thankfully, Erdi chose that moment to request his expertise on the origin of the tooled leatherwork--if Marcus has a hobby, it is antiquities--so Marcus went over to her instead. 

I went to see what Ahtar was doing, over there by the tall bench. One by one, he was picking up knives and other tools, looking them over, and then placing them back, carefully polishing the blade and handle of each with his shirt-sleeve as he did.

“Pretty good steel,” he said, mildly. “Wasted on all this display-- pot metal’d do.”

“Yeah,” I said, agreeing.

I nudged a bone-saw, the edges of which gleamed. Sharpened to the verge of uselessness, made to look intimidating rather than to serve its actual purpose. There was a whip with many tails, a tiny stone knotted into each. I touched it. The leather was soft and supple, as though it had seen use… but I sniffed at it, and then tasted, with both mundane and magickal sense. It had never drawn blood. 

I looked at what was scattered on the table and picked up a tiny clamp. 

“Decent work,” I said, and squinted at it, whilst working the action. “Ah, that explains it. Shimmerene. But somebody’s buffed out all the sharp edges.” I set it back, and examined one of the nearby candles. Dreugh wax, drizzled all down one edge of the candlestick. Hmm.

“Well?” I said. “What’s your overall opinion?” Professionally speaking, I meant.

“Somebody’s got a lot of time and money to spend,” said Ahtar, dismissively. “Two, maybe three of these knives’d do for real work. Might keep the spreader. Maybe.” He sounded dubious. “Missing a few things for the real deal here, too.”

“Don’t look at me,” I said. “I’ve only had the class on the field kit. You?”

Ahtar grunted. “Guy before me showed me the ropes before he retired. He was glad to go. And I used to talk shop with Rulindil. Knows his stuff.” He paused. “At least he did, back then.” Our esteemed Third Emissary was so far gone in the throes of alcoholism that it would be a miracle if he could clasp his hand round an eye-pick, much less put it to use.

I illuminated my hand and checked beneath the working-table and then the nearby corners of the room, moving quickly. “You were right,” I reported. “Nothing.”

“All right,” I said to the others. “We’ve seen what we came to see. Let’s get out of here before Sabjorn figures out we’re down here and we lose our favorite drinking spot, okay?”

Marcus was only too happy to leave.

Ahtar lingered until I shooed him away.

Erdi followed us, a scrap of something lacy in her hand. “Pretty,” was all she said. “Maybe I can figure out the shop it came from?”

We walked single-file behind Honningbrew until we were past its buildings and grounds, and then ranged out into the countryside, heading in the general direction of Elysium, as though we’d been out most of the day collecting wild herbs and mushrooms. I’d had a couple of string bags in my pocket, which Erdi and myself filled as we walked. 

Marcus fretted, so she walked with him, leaving me alone to my own thoughts. I did note that she didn’t clue him in; it was a grand joke, from her perspective. 

I was going to have to say something later.


	4. It's nothing to worry about, really.

Ahtar had gone to get the Dovahkiin. They did not come back home for some time, and when they finally did, both of them had forgotten all about the crate of Honningbrew I’d requested they bring back.

“Go back tomorrow and get it,” Ahtar suggested, stifling a belch. “Maybe a keg of the Honningbrew Reserve, too? They tapped the new batch tonight and it’s pretty good. For mead.” He made a face.

The Dovahkiin commented that Ahtar was nearly always mead-weary, even while not feeling the effects of drink. He’s right; Ahtar vastly prefers ale, or some other bittered drink. So this Reserve was likely to be dry and strong, not sweet. I wasn’t as interested.

“So-- what’re we going to do about this place?” Marcus finally prompted, anxiously, as we sat around the firepit for an impromptu supper. I threaded an elf-ear (what a vulgar name for laurel, really) onto its skewer, and reached for another chunk of pork. Ahtar sat nearby, carefully turning the fish in its basket over the glowing coals.

“Um? Nothing?” said Erdi, puzzled. “I don’t know what you’d like for me to do. I guess I could report it to the Sisterhood…” her voice trailed off. “Might be a useful resource for them…” she mused.

I rather thought the same, so I thought a quiet word with the priests of Kynareth might be in order. Assuming that Danica didn’t already know all about it.

“I don’t care what folks get up to, in their free time,” said Ahtar, and yawned hugely. “Long’s it doesn’t involve me.”

The Dovahkiin shifted about, uncomfortably. 

“It’s all for show, idiot,” I finally said to Marcus, so he’d settle down. “It’s not for real. It’s not even remotely for real. Just--” 

The others looked askance at me; I was ruining their fun. 

“-- for play. Nothing bad goes on there,” I said, patiently. “Don’t you think you would have picked up on it, if it did?” 

Erdi sighed. “Spoilsport,” she grumbled at me.

But Alfgar the Dovahkiin nodded his thanks at me; he was grateful to not have to be the one to explain it to Marcus, who had what looked like a death-grip on his knees as he sat at the Dovahkiin’s feet. 

I thought the Dovahkiin was being suspiciously silent about this whole matter, but I let it go.

“Perfectly obvious to the educated eye,” I said, to counter Marcus’ evident disbelief. “No drains in the floor, for one.”

No lingering effluvia of shit or vomit. No telltale signs of where bodies had been carted or dragged in and out. Each and every piece of specialized equipment in the place had been a lovingly-detailed example of the craftsman’s art. In fact-- did I recognize that maker’s mark? I rather thought I did. That couch had looked rather interesting. I wondered where I could-- well.

Ahtar’s only real concern was that the place might have been a temple to Sanguine-- or one of the other daedra which deals in the darker passions of the body--but for various reasons Erdi did not think that this was so. Which was just as well. Daedric cults make for terrible neighbors.

Even the more entertaining ones.

So it was just some sort of social club. A remarkably busy social club, especially on Loredas and Sundas, but still-- a club. 

Perfectly harmless.

I finished with the last of the meat, and set the skewer on the improvised grill.

“Trust your mage-sight in future, better than your eyes,” I advised Marcus. And: “What’s so funny?” I demanded, of Erdi. She’d said something to Ahtar which had got them both snickering.

“Said I ought to go down there in my old clothes.” Ahtar grinned at me, miming the rings and leather straps. “Maybe warm up the old act I used to give the tourists.”

“You could go too,” said Erdi to me. “You’ve... you’ve even got something to wear.” She subsided back into giggles.

“As much as I’d love to wear my duty blacks into the meeting-hall of a sex club--” I said, placidly-- wouldn’t they be impressed by a Thalmor Justiciar?

Ha.

I couldn’t suppress my own snort of laughter: “Not really my thing. And too much work for a joke. Honningbrew’s an unfortunately busy location. Too many potential informers. Can you imagine, the memoranda-in-justification I’d have to write?”


	5. Why shouldn't we associate with them? Huh?

Erdi skidded to a halt when she saw the other Redguard sitting at Ahtar's table. He did not look friendly.

“What?” demanded Ahtar. “I’m not that late.” 

Erdi hadn't said anything at all. Ahtar scraped a chair over towards her with his foot. Unwillingly, Erdi perched on the verge of it.

“New in town?” she asked, the stranger, hesitantly. “I’ve ah-- never seen you before.”

“You have not,” said the Redguard, with a sardonic little curl of his lip. “And it’s not likely you would, either.”

Welcome to our little community. It’s very quiet! So it’s nice to see a new face around here, uh--” Erdi faltered and fell silent.

“Spare me the niceties,” murmured the stranger. 

His eyes were locked to Ahtar’s. 

Ahtar’s were locked to his. 

\--

“And then he said: “Go home, girl, I’ve got business to discuss’-- and Ahtar didn’t say anything at all, and he let me get shooed out of Honningbrew like... like I’m some--”

Cyrelian held up his left hand for silence. Busily scribing away, he didn’t even turn around. 

Erdi immediately shut up.

Inwardly she sighed. Cyr wasn’t normally this peremptory; he must really be struggling. She tried to get a glimpse of the page. She’d been gone for awhile and it didn’t look like he’d made much progress.

Cyrelian finished his last few words and carefully set his quill aside.

“Go ahead and finish up,” she said contritely. “It can wait.” 

Here she was, bringing Cyr news that’d be upsetting to him, all the while knowing that he had to finish this book thing for Danica before he was due back in Winterhold for the coming term. 

He shook his head: “Danica’s going to send it back for revision anyway; I’m just blathering at this point. I think I lost whatever insights I had six hours ago. Who was this?”

“I didn’t catch a name,” said Erdi, contritely.

Cyrelian made an irritable gesture: distinguishing features?

“He was shorter than Ahtar,” she began. 

"Well, that hardly helps," said Cyrelian, in that snide-elf way of his. "Unless you care to name to me some other human who isn't."

Erdi chose to ignore this: "He wasn't nearly as muscular, but still pretty big. Dressed up in that same kind of tunic and pantaloons as that guy who the jarl put in the stocks for pestering Ahlam, last week. He had the same kind of headgear too--" Erdi demonstrated, a headdress that covered the hair and neck.

She paused to reflect. “Why would anyone wear that lightweight veil thing in Skyrim? Because all of that light cloth would just get damp and stick to your neck and face. A good wool hat would be better," she said. "He should have looked foolish. But-- " She thought about it. "He was kind of scary."

“Was he an Alik’r?” Cyrelian asked.

“Could be, I guess,” said Erdi, dubiously. He didn’t quite have the same look as the men who had been kicked out of the city. He didn't move or talk the same way. “I know,” she said. “We can ask Nazeem!”

“We could do that,” agreed Cyrelian, absently. By which Erdi knew that Cyrelian was no longer giving her his full attention. He was frowning, lost in his own thoughts. She had upset him. This was not good. 

“I could be wrong,” she said to him. About what she’d thought she’d seen, between Ahtar and that stranger. 

Cyr was still frowning.

“Let’s not worry over it,” she suggested. “And maybe if you’re not making good progress you should rest? It’s a good hour past midnight.”

“Best lock up, then,” he said.

“I don’t think Ahtar took his key with him,” Erdi said. And she didn’t want to leave the door unlocked while Cyrelian was working; wild dogs could come in and tear the place up before he took any notice. One time it had been a trio of inebriated mead-seekers looking for Honningbrew’s taproom. Once-- Erdi shuddered-- it had been a squirrel.

Cyrelian’s gaze went to the hearth-mantle, where indeed a key rested. 

“Ah,” was all that he said. 

But Erdi knew what he meant: Ahtar, should he choose to come home tonight, could damned well sleep in the yard. It was rather damp and chilly tonight.

Cyrelian yawned. Whatever his brooding thoughts were, they had left him. After a moment he turned back to his desk and began to sift through his notes again.

Erdi sighed.


	6. We wouldn't want to be seen as inhospitable.

“Oh, hey,” said Ahtar to them. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake anybody up. This is Nazir. Friend of Vex’s. He’s just in town to, you know--” He hesitated. “You, ah, going to get dressed?” he asked Cyr.

Erdi sidled a little further into the sitting room, robe belted a little more securely.

“Yeah,” yawned Cyrelian, rubbing his face and squinting blearily. “In a minute. How did you get in here? Because you left your key again--”

Ahtar gestured in the stranger’s direction. The other Redguard shrugged, a bit sheepish. His hands moved to demonstrate: lockpicks.

“Did we not have a talk about this?” Cyr demanded of Ahtar, peevishly.

Ahtar muttered something at the floor, out of which Erdi managed to discern the words: “Ain’t like that.”

“No? It certainly seems like it,” snapped Cyrelian, aggrieved. He turned on his heel and stalked back into his room. Ahtar, no doubt sensing that he was in trouble, followed him with alacrity. The door closed.

Erdi looked at the stranger, who gestured again: Go ahead, I’ll wait. 

So she went to listen in.

\--

“So let me be clear: in no particular order, that’s a good friend of your niece, the felon…” Cyrelian’s voice was sharp. He was angry.

“Yeah,” said Ahtar. 

“An Alik’r… one of those lunatic blood-and-revenge sorts whom the Thalmor still lose an operative to every now and then.”

“Sabjorn said our conversation was disturbing to the other guests.” Erdi was surprised: Ahtar didn't normally wheedle like that. "My bet is Sabjorn just wanted to close up, so anyways we had to leave. And Nazir knows who you work for and he says he don’t care about all that...” Ahtar trailed off.

“An actual honest-to-Sithis assassin.”

“Not under contract for any of us,” Ahtar said, trying to be reasonable. “He said so.”

“Annnd. He’s the guy with the knives," Cyrelian said, with emphasis. "The one who you won’t quit talking about."

Erdi winced. 

"No. Look at me.” Cyrelian demanded.

“Ah--We didn't know. Coulda been a lady.” Now Ahtar was whining.

“Really? Given the height of that bench?" Cyr's voice got fainter. "Don’t think I don’t-- hey!”

Was that a chair falling over? 

Erdi hesitated, but a few more moments of eavesdropping removed all doubt. She huffed and went back into the sitting area.

“Now this is an interesting little situation," said the Redguard. "What's going on? Is some sort of intervention required?"

“I think they forgot we have company,” Erdi said, and glanced out the window. It was raining harder, now.

Hm. 

Well, this was awkward.

“Nazir?”

The Redguard nodded.

“Are you kin to the gentleman over--” she indicated in the direction of the oh-so-important Chillfurrow farm, right next to Whiterun.

The similarly-named Redguard's lip curled again, for all that he was being friendlier now. “Gods, no,” he said, emphatically.

“Well, in that case,” Erdi said, relieved. “Do you prefer redflower tisane or kava?”


	7. I mean... we do have some things in common.

“Did you think I had escaped in the interim?” drawled Nazir. He moved another white counter on the board. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Erdi watched, fascinated, as Cyrelian refused the bait. 

“Apologies for the delay,” Cyr said smoothly, despite the ruddy flush which had darkened his freckled cheeks. “Ahtar went to change clothes and get cleaned up. I don’t know what he does in there but it takes forever. It’s so late...”

“Early,” murmured Erdi. The sun was coming up. She pushed a black counter into place to block Nazir. They had just re-rolled for a new game, and already she was losing.

“...that I might as well make breakfast.” Cyrelian began to rummage around in their kitchen cupboard. “Do you eat smoked fish?” he asked Nazir. “Because the potatoes still look good, and if there’s eggs there’ll be enough hash to go ‘round.”

The battle-scarred assassin gave protest, but in the end Erdi prevailed upon him to fetch the eggs from the hen house whilst she browsed the garden-patch for the parsley and chives and everything else that Cyrelian had requested.

\--

“Liirane?” Nazir asked.

“Deceased. Argument with a sabrecat.” Cyrelian took another poached egg for himself and offered the same to Erdi, who declined. Nazir took another one. “And Uluwie--" Cyrelian was chewing. "She got re-assigned back to where her husband was stationed. Had that request in for a while. Got promoted too. Deserved it.”

Erdi listened closely as she ate. 

It seemed that the Dark Brotherhood had a lot of curiosity about what had happened to some of the Justiciars stationed at the Thalmor Embassy. 

“Ven.”

“Stormcloak agent. We think.” Cyrelian sniffed. “Wasn’t careful about his company. His armor turned up at a street vendor’s stall some months later.”

“Faranlissen and Veldamo.” 

Cyrelian paused. “The one I don’t know. But Faran-- that was a sabrecat. For real, I mean, not our usual sort of “sabrecat” if you know what I mean. Fool tried messing with a nest of kits. We didn’t get much back, but thankfully for his kin his head was still mostly intact and we could make identification.”

“Sweet paps! Why are you answering him?” Erdi wanted to know.

“Professional courtesy,” said Nazir.

“So our organizations don’t go wasting each other’s time.” Cyrelian smiled gently at her bewilderment. "Saves our current staff a great deal of trouble. The First Emissary will be quite appreciative when I relay all of this to her. No harm done." 

“Colarminde. Got a couple requests out for that one, actually. And Mithellian.”

“Colarminde? One of Jerulith’s former associates?” Cyrelian finished buttering his toast and stared at it, critically. “Field execution a couple of years ago. Unpleasant but necessary. Otherwise the Talons would have gotten involved. I think Elenwen is still coping with the paperwork that generated.” He decided he needed more butter. “Mithellian’s still out there,” he said. "Unfortunately. Thankfully he got over the border into Hammerfell. We think. So he's not our problem anymore."

“Falcaro.” Nazir tilted his cup, to accept another cup of kava. He gave four or five other names.

“Dragon, oddly enough, for that whole crew,” Cyrelian said in response to the latter group, and dredged his toast in the enormous puddle of honey he’d dripped onto his bread plate. “And Falcaro, that was an accident.” Cyr's eyes closed and he sighed with pleasure as he thoroughly enjoyed the sweet bite. Erdi watched him with fascination. Maybe she could convince him to take a break from writing, later. 

"Hm?" prompted Nazir. "We didn't hear about that one."

“Broken skull. Wouldn’t go into the sabrecat den,” Cyrelian said, and snickered. “Honestly, I don’t know what it is about Skyrim, it brings out the worst in our people.”

Nazir chuckled.

“Fassion was at the end of his tour; he went back to Alinor and took a desk job,” said Cyrelian. “Nuliehtal retired, so he’s gone as well.”

There were more names.

“That’s an awful lot of Dark Brotherhood contracts,” said Erdi, impressed. “The Thalmor really know how to make friends.” 

“He’s asking about almost all of our Justiciars and active agents,” Cyrelian explained. “That way I don’t waste my time running around issuing specific briefs and warnings and so on. Thank you for that, by the way.”

Nazir inclined his head and nodded. 

“So you’re going to warn Mithellian, then?” Erdi was confused.

Cyrelian smiled, with even less humor. “He’s out on frolic, actually,” he said. “In his case, the sort of frolic that has Talons out hunting for him with a detainment writ. So as far as we’re concerned, he’s on his own.” He frowned, evidently thinking about it. "It's probably better for us if he were to be killed, actually. Dead mer tell no tales and so on." 

“I’m surprised that the First Emissary isn’t on the list,” said Erdi. “Or Ondolomar. Rulindil-- he’s done some things.”

Cyrelian cleared his throat. “Certain individuals have been agreed upon to be off-limits,” he said. “The situation in Skyrim is unstable enough; we don’t need Alinor’s politics bleeding off onto it. Would you like some more pepper?”

Nazir nodded.

They ate companionably, for a time.

“Pelorren. Onontil. Hinnaro. Norderion. Ortien. Vengaldimo. Iriemir.” Nazir frowned. “And we’re really not certain what happened to Lovriten. Too many conflicting accounts.”

“Norderion drowned-- well, almost drowned and then took the lung inflammation and the rattles. Didn’t go to the healer till it was too late,” said Cyrelian, easily. He reached for the teapot and poured for himself and Erdi. He’d flinched, though. Erdi had seen it. She was certain Nazir hadn’t missed it, either.

“Pelorren, went home. Onotil, likewise. Iriemir and Vengaldimo, reassigned to someplace not here; classified." Cyrelian poked at some crumbs, then looked up. "Lovriten, that was suicide.” 

Nazir raised a brow.

“Went back home to Alinor and wouldn’t shut up even after being called in and warned by the First Council directly,” Cyrelian clarified. “Ended up condemned as a dissident. Oh, and moral crimes. Technically his execution is still in progress; it’s only been about half a decade.” Cyr reached for the platter, evidently deciding on a second helping. The smoked-trout hash was good, Erdi thought. Ahtar had better get in here soon, or he was going to be out of luck.

“Impressive,” Nazir observed.

“I’m fairly certain Ortien went back to Alinor… but if your organization should happen to locate him, would you let me know? We’ve been--” Cyrelian took more of the sour cream as he mulled over his next words: “Out of touch." Cyr's expression was very definitely not a smile. Erdi made a mental note.

Nazir made a noise of agreement. Taking another piece of toast for himself, he began to mop up what was left of his eggs.

And: “Don’t waste your time looking for Hinnaro,” said Cyrelian, still chewing. “I murdered him. Feel free to have your organization take the credit; that’s a loose end I wouldn’t mind seeing snipped off. Oh-- hello! There’s still some fish left if you hurry.”

Ahtar blew out his breath. Then, shaking his head, he fixed himself breakfast and sat down at the other end of the table. Just in time for Cyrelian to favor Nazir with approval: “It is so comfortable, not to have to continually explain oneself,” Cyr commented. 

Nazir smiled.

Ahtar muttered something. Erdi was pretty sure it was “psychopaths.”

“I hardly think that’s fair,” she said, offended. “Cyr kills only if he gets ordered to, or if it's necessary. Psychopaths… psychopaths kill for fun. Nazir kills for money.”

Nazir returned his attention to his plate. Erdi was pretty sure he was still smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I blame Grosse Pointe Blank for this one.


	8. Maybe we could grab a drink?

Ahtar paused for a moment, pretending to address a tunic-clasp. He was acutely aware that Nazir had instantly stopped walking; the assassin wasn’t about to let just anyone get behind him. 

Fuck. 

He felt like some kid with battlesweat, his pulse hammering too fast and his heart in his throat. Ahtar wasn’t exactly new to these proceedings, but it had been a long time. And something about that Alik’r-born Redguard made his hands shake.

Nazir cleared his throat, and Ahtar looked up just in time to see the door of Honningbrew Meadery open up, and a crowd come streaming out. It was Whiterun's upper crust, or what passed for it. All the people who were important, or who thought they were. Sabjorn must have announced a tasting. 

Ahtar stepped off the cobblestones just in time, but thankfully Nazeem gave the two of them no more than a cursory nod as he bustled on by to his own property. There went the jarl's steward, Avenicci, and the jarl's brother. Ahtar blinked, to see the two of them together. That was odd; they hated each other. A few more palace functionaries and businesswomen that Ahtar recognized; a couple of wealthy visitors that he did not, and... 

“Hm?” said Nazir, raising a brow.

“The gods hate me,” said Ahtar to Nazir, more clearly.

And, more loudly: “What’re you doing fooling around with those people?” 

Marcus had better not be on the game again, or there was going to be a very irate Dovahkiin in someone’s future.

Marcus arched a perfect eyebrow: “Conducting business. Not the sort you’re thinking.” 

Was that a pout? Or was that just more of his damned lip paint? 

Now Marcus wanted to stand in the road and talk about it, something to do with allowing free passage of ore and metal along the Pale Pass Road. Marcus had business interests in that town called Blackthorn that was still under construction. And some interests in Erdi's little trading house, and there was a possible job out in Falkreath somewhere that he wanted to talk to Ahtar about, because it sounded like Companions' work...

Nazir stood nearby, equal parts bored and amused. He wasn’t going to be of any assistance whatsoever.

“What the fuck are you wearing that shit for?” Ahtar flicked at the stole draped around Marcus’ shoulders.

“It’s a sable,” Marcus said. “And it was expensive, so do you mind? Stop grabbing at it.” Marcus craned his head around to get a better view of Nazir, and smiled, winningly. “Hi,” he said. “You must be that friend of--”

Ahtar gave up and walked away. 

Within a few seconds he was sitting at his favorite table inside Honningbrew, feet up, and a pint of good ale in his own mug. Sabjorn kept it put up for him behind the counter. First Erdi, then Cyrelian, and now Marcus. Who the fuck was going to show up next?

Before he could wave Sabjorn down for a refill, Nazir and Marcus came in. Despite the oh, seven or eight empty tables, they made a beeline for Ahtar’s. Grudgingly, he removed his feet, just in time for Marcus to take the chair away from him and sit, daintily. Marcus, of course, wanted to go on telling Ahtar all about his busy day of negotiations amongst the local princes of trade; he was riding high, his face flushed with success. He was as irritatingly tactile as usual; the third time Ahtar had to prise his fingers off his arm, he said: “Where you staying?”

“Um? The guesthouse, if that’s all right. Huntsman’s full up and I don’t know what’s going on over at the Mare; it’s just full of people. Kynareth pilgrims, maybe.” 

“We’re full up,” said Ahtar. “Farkas and his--”

“Ohhh,” said Marcus. “I forgot about that.” Now he was looking up through his eyelashes; an entreaty. Dammit. “I could, umm, find someplace else to go--”

Before Marcus could start eyeing the other patrons of the Meadery with regard to the depth of their pockets or the coziness of their bedrooms, Ahtar handed over his house key. “Just take one of the beds in the common room,” he said, wearily. “Try not to disturb Cyrelian while he's working.”

“Thanks! I’ll tell him you sent me.” Marcus got up and shook the skirts of his coat into order, favored Nazir with that annoying knowing-smile of his, and flounced out.

“Skooma,” observed Nazir. “Hell of a drug.” And: "One of yours, hmm?" That was a provoking question.

“Nope,” said Ahtar, deciding that he was going to have another ale, after all. “That’s just Marcus. My nephew. I guess. Anyways, he ain't said otherwise. He doesn’t do skooma. Not so much anymore. Doesn’t even hardly get drunk. It’s just-- I dunno. Every day's different, with him.”

Nazir visibly decided not to say whatever-it-was, and tugged on his beard-ring, thoughtfully. 

“Heard about him,” was all he said. And: “I’ll take the mead. Reserve, please.”


	9. It's not like they're out recruiting...

This had all been a few years back:

Nazir beckoned the Argonian waiter over and requested more wine for their table. The others had worked their way through a discussion of materials purchases for special new furniture-- there were some odd looks from the surrounding patrons but Haelga, unfazed, had caught Nazir's eye and nodded approvingly--and they were now discussing possible recruits for the Sanctum. Not Haelga, of course; she had her own thing going.

"I've seen a young Imperial around the Bard's College, who definitely seems like he's seeking more than poetic tutelage," said Giraud Gemane, refilling his goblet. "Drinks in the Skeever sometimes with the executioner and his wife."

Nazir grunted. He wasn’t particularly interested. But why was Brynjolf snickering? And Vex's face was flushed. She was upset.

Vex glared at Brynjolf. "Shut up," she muttered.

"You talking about Marcus Vecellius? Vekel's little brother?" Brynjolf spoke over her, reaching for another bottle. "Not going to happen," he said expansively. "Working boys fuck for septims, not pleasure-- anyways whenever I've seen him, he's been smacked out on skooma or so hung over he can't even talk, but most importantly--"

"You shut up right now, Bryn, or you're gonna find out--"

"If he's Vekel's brother then he's our little Vex's brother too." Brynjolf leered. "You can guess how well they get along. He's a lot prettier."

Vex scowled at Brynjolf. "Yeah, well, he's our burden to bear, and it's not funny." She took a drink, brooding. "Really. He's barely more than a kid. Vekel and Toni tried to help, I even tried to help set him up with a couple of easy jobs, but--" She set the mug down, half-finished. "He takes insane risks. One of these days, he's going to go with the wrong man, get himself killed."

Giraud's face was the picture of surprise. "I... I had no idea. I'm sorry, Vex."

Vex glowered. "Don't mention it."

There was silence for a few moments before Giraud tentatively piped up again. "Thoughts on the executioner?" 

Brynjolf collapsed in laughter as Vex threw her napkin down in disgust.

"Don't!" she warned Brynjolf. "Not a word." 

She regarded Giraud for a long moment. "Long story. Let's just say he's my kin too, and leave it at that. Me and Vekel, we owe Ahtar a whole lot. He and Jala couldn't handle Marcus either, that's why Marcus got sent to us. Good to hear the brat's back in Solitude being looked after."

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that," said Giraud. "He's still pretty wild." He sipped his wine. "But a couple of my students seem to taken a liking to him, so they'll keep him happily drunk, playing and singing. And hopefully out of trouble."

"Yeah," said Vex wearily. "That'd be good, if you could keep an eye on that. I know Vekel worries." She retrieved her napkin. Her long fingers fussed with the place setting, until fork and spoon and eating-dagger were just so. "Are we gonna eat?" she demanded. "Otherwise I'll slide on home."

Nazir held his hand up again for Talen-Jei, who hurried over.

Vex waited until Brynolf was blissfully occupied crumbling black-pepper hardtack into his chowder. "Appearances aren't always what they seem," she murmured. "Want the real deal on the executioner? Talk to his wife. She'll clue you in."

Nazir tucked that little bit of information away for later. It might be useful.

And later was now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter grew out of a conversation with [raunchyandpaunchy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raunchyandpaunchy/pseuds/raunchyandpaunchy)! So I blame her. Nazir's eavesdropping, however, is all my fault.


	10. So? We just talk about work and stuff.

“So what do you think? Now that you’ve had your tour backstage, if you will.”

“Got something for just about everybody, looks like,” said Ahtar, examining what appeared to be a very special chair. “So what’s that thing over there?”

“A swing,” said Nazir, in a certain tone.

“Sorry,” said Ahtar at once. “Didn’t mean to sound dismissive. Is that-- ah-- one of your own--”

“No.” 

Ahtar waited. 

He wasn’t going to give away the game by letting Nazir know he’d already been prowling around down here. And he was wondering which was going to win out; Nazir’s natural inclinations, or Nazir’s wish to be a congenial host. Host it was; some other people had come in, and with an annoyed scowl Nazir led Ahtar over towards his work bench.

Ahtar looked it over. “Critique?” he questioned.

Nazir made an open-handed gesture.

“Sure,” Ahtar agreed. “Moment.” He climbed up on the work-table and held his hands up to the bonds for a moment, and rotated his head from one shoulder to the other. “Forehead restraint?” he asked.

“No,” said Nazir.

“Huh. Okay.” Ahtar turned his head and looked up toward the bench. “Got it." Well, maybe Nazir wasn't so worried about getting bitten. And: “Could you move out of the way?” 

Obligingly, Nazir stepped back. Suppressing the uneasy feeling that he was going to pay for this in future, Ahtar sat up. Then he got up and went over to the rack of knives-and-saws and began sorting. The whips, similarly.

“Alright,” he said at length, and glanced over towards Nazir. He had garnered an audience now. Vex was there, for one, but after a little wave of her fingers she wandered off. A tall blonde lady he didn’t know. Whoever she was, she made Vex look like a kitten. A few others who were clearly prey-for-the-predators. That was all right; Ahtar’d given this talk before, even if it had been awhile.

“You, ah-- you gonna take notes?” he asked. “Or you just gonna remember things?”

Nazir looked nonplussed. After a moment he made a gesture and a girl in some kind of lacy decorative thing scuttled off to bring him a wax tablet and stylus. The whisperings and mutterings of the others, he knew, had to do with him. Taller, heavier, and much uglier. “Didn’t know Nazir had a big brother.” Giggles. Nazir was frowning, looking cranky about it.

This kept up, Ahtar was gonna be much crankier, too. He tried to ignore it.

“So,” Ahtar said, once Nazir was ready. “Just to give ya a little background, cause we’re coming at this from two different ways. For me, this was a job, one that I performed for part of my duties in the Haafingar Guard. Earned me money. I did a good job because I wanted to, not because I was all…ah. Invested. Like you all are.”

Nazir nodded.

“Familiar with the levels?” Ahtar inquired.

The scary blonde woman folded her arms: “Yes, generally. I’m not sure entirely of what all of the particular details are for each--”

“You wouldn't be. Varies by administrative district,” said Ahtar. “Set out via Imperial edict and not the public sort either. For us, the Captain of the Haafingar Guard had responsibility for ensuring that the protocols were met-- and we didn’t have the, ah, full range of services available to us.” He grinned, letting the scars on his face pull taut. “Some things need to be a mystery. Keeps folks guessing. Keeps them afraid.”

He coughed, and picked up a little whip, bending its leather tip. “Nords aren’t very accepting of torture,” he said.

Somebody audibly smirked; he ignored it and put the whip back.

“It offends a man’s honor,” he said, calm. “Sounded like somebody had a question.”

He went silent, a trick he’d learned from his elf.

It worked; Nazir, grim-faced, went to deal with the gawkers.

“Astrid,” said the scary lady. “My husband knows who you are. Says you train with the Companions.”

“Train, not train with,” said Ahtar, agreeably. “Hard to keep fit down here otherwise. Those guys look after the house for us while we’re gone, so it’s a pretty good trade-off. Now and then Caius has his guardsmen run with us, that’s when it gets to be more tedious. New pups’re a lot of work.”

“That they are,” said Astrid, scowling in the direction of her errant pack.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” said Ahtar to the returning Nazir.

Nazir vented an audible breath through his nostrils.

“Getting back to things,” said Ahtar. “We never did do interrogations at Castle Dour. I mean, Haafingar didn’t. If there was need, we passed it off to the military governor and he sent them on to Bruma or off by ship. If urgent, the elves. And I just told you why the jarl didn’t use physical punishment for the low and middle justice. It was all just jail time or wergeld or day labor. So…” He frowned at the empty table. “The real work was all reserved for the prisoners who were slated to die anyways. You know. The ones who did really bad things. As a um…”

“Deterrent,” suggested Nazir. “Were you looking for a volunteer?” From his tone, it was clear he meant the person who had interrupted earlier.

“Nah,” said Ahtar. “Couple of blankets’d do fine. Blanket and a pillow, maybe.” He looked back over at Nazir. “I don’t want to brag about it too much. Never did do the top-end work; that takes a surgeon and a mage. And a priest, prob’ly. Nasty. I heard they can go a full three-four days. Unless they get stasis involved. Then it can go pretty much forever. Elves do that shit.”

“Sooo… would you say that you are mostly experienced in the moderate-to-high hmm… protocols?” Astrid asked.

“Yeah,” said Ahtar. “The first two-- that’s just yelling and such; and then showing ‘em the implements. Implements is stage two. You can push ‘em around a little there, but not any kind of real beating. Trying to intimidate. Not punish.” He began to roll the blanket and patted it awkwardly into a rough human shape lying on the table. “Then we’d skip the low-moderate stuff, say three through five? That’s just the whippings and so on. What you’d expect to see for petty crimes and low level felonies in Cyrodiil. Middle justice, they’d say here. We don’t do ‘em. Nords wouldn’t tolerate it.”

He frowned down at the shape on the table. “Think we need a head. Arms, maybe.”

Silently, Nazir put a stack of towels on the table.

“So,” said Ahtar, working. “Six through ten are reserved for the people who you’re gonna execute. Nobody’s living past a seven or so anyways, too much skin’s gone, bones broken and so on. A ten needs a writ from the Emperor himself; they do nines and tens in the City arena. Specialist work. Well beyond me.”

He went to Nazir’s bench and picked up the four items he’d set to the side. “None a the rest of this stuff is any good past Level Two,” he said. “And you’d do better with a good set of blacksmith pliers than these things.” He clashed the jaws of the toothpuller together approvingly. “Look fuckin’ scary though.”

“Adrienne copied a pair from Danica,” said Astrid.

“Yeah, I live with one of Danica’s Restoration-mage students, that’s how I know they’re crap,” said Ahtar. “Enough torque right there, and they fucking well break on you and gouge up the…I mean. Not that we'd care, but it kinda would ruin the moment.”

“Ok,” he said. “So you get your ah-- we call ‘em offenders, dunno what you call 'em-- in place, make sure you got what you need and that everybody’s there, and the theater begins. Whether you start in slow or fast ‘n hard depends a great deal upon the audience. Like, if it’s just me and the Steward, he don’t give a fuck, I’m just gonna get it over with. But if I got a roomful, that’s a different story. Going to depend on who all’s present.”

“Doesn’t how you make it last depend on the individual sentence?” asked Astrid.

Ahtar shrugged. “More on the audience,” he said. “Gotta wonder how you all do it, here. Since it’s, you know, a show you put on for each other. Probably have to mix it up a lot to keep people on their toes.” He chuckled. “And of course you can’t really hurt ‘em. That’s gotta take some finesse.”

Astrid and Nazir exchanged glances.

“Show me why you like the smallest knife the best,” directed Nazir.

“Hold on,” said Astrid. “What did you mean by ‘roomful’?”

Ahtar decided that he wouldn't tell them about the folks who'd paid to watch. People tended to react badly to that, for some reason. And he didn't know these two very well yet.

“Level ones an’ level twos,” said Ahtar. “Saves me a lot of time, makin’ ‘em watch instead of working them over. Or we let people do an observation to work off some wergeld. Something.” He grinned. “And then they get to mop afterwards. Made my nephew do it once and he didn’t talk to me for a month. Hehehe. Poor kid. Puking and mopping. Prob’ly made him redo the job four times.”

“So,” he said. “Let’s say, a level six. And let’s say you’re getting paid by the hour.” He laughed. “Sometimes you get pretty good money--tips and so on-- if the crime’s bad enough and the time is right. You can relax with a six; they generally don’t up and die on you so quick. Can take plenty of time.”

He demonstrated a few things, pointing at the fake limbs and torso for reference. There was a particular way one ought to approach degloving, for instance.

Nazir asked a question.

“Yeah,” said Ahtar. “It’s the same. You gotta give breaks, you gotta fodder and water ‘em. Otherwise they just give up and die too quick. You got to be patient. Some, they’re pretty tough… women especially… you don’t need to stop and start, you can just take it through to the end.” He paused. “Better that way. Sometimes when you stop, they reach out to you. Try to hang onto you, even though you’re the one that’s hurting them. In that moment, you’re all they’ve got.”

He shook his head as if to clear water from his ears. “Movin’ on. You had a question about the knife?”

Ahtar went over things for another hour or so-- these two were pretty well informed, for amateurs. He was sort of hoping Astrid would lose interest and wander off. Nazir was standing a little too close now, he could feel the man’s warmth along his arm, raising the tiny hairs. No such luck. Astrid did not wander off. And now Nazir’s attention was not on him. There was someone else coming up, a heavy tread that, sadly, Ahtar recognized.

Alfgar the Dovahkiin cleared his throat, apologetically.

“Shoulder again?” said Astrid, with sympathy.

“Guess Nazir gets to get out the heavy equipment,” said Vex, brushing the white-blond hair out of her eyes. “And look who the cat dragged in. Heya Ahtar. Didn’t get to say hi earlier. So what’s going on?”

“Hey, Lucia,” said Ahtar, wearily resigned. He looked around. “So, everybody else up here too? Cozy little family part of this little-- ah-- club thing?”

“Just me and Bryn.” Vex scowled. She hated being called by her praenomina. Tough.

“Something I wouldn’t have expected,” he said of Brynjolf. "Man's about as intimidating as a spaniel pup. Thought he was all settled down, anyways.”

Vex shrugged: “Eh, you know how Toni is. On and off. It's aggravating.” Ahtar had long since given up trying to parse that relationship.

After a moment: “Vekel all right?” Ahtar still wasn’t gonna be talking to him, but it wasn’t like he didn’t want to know, the man was kin.

“Sure,” said Vex, without nagging him about it. She understood. “Same old.”

They chatted for a bit, about this person and that-- Vex was astounded to learn that Marcus had actually gotten his preliminary credentials at the College of Winterhold-- they hadn't summarily tossed Marcus out?

“The mages kind of don’t mind, what do you call it, high spirits, as long as no one gets kilt--” Ahtar’s attention wasn’t really on the conversation; he was focused on what was going on, up on Nazir’s table. “That’s something you don’t see every day,” he mused. It was some pretty impressive machinery. Nazir’s willing victim seemed completely unbothered. Nor did he appear to have his mind-- ah-- in the right place for such proceedings. The Dovahkiin was laughing, merrily. Eventually Nazir put his whole weight into it. There was a loud crack.

Even Vex winced. “Did he break the bone?” she asked.

“Wrong angle,” said Ahtar. “Hope my back never gets that bad.” 

Sure enough, the Dovahkiin yawned and stretched. As he put his shirt back on, he flexed and rotated his shoulders, his vertebrae audibly popping and creaking into place. He seemed unfazed. Nazir was the one rubbing at an elbow as if it hurt.

“So what’s going on with you tonight?” Ahtar asked Vex, curious. Because her boots looked thief-y enough, but the rest of that outfit-- it was definitely not meant for outside.

“Oh, I got one in the cage,” said Vex, casually. “She can wait. You?”

“Well, I thought I was up to something...” The Dovahkiin was demonstrating some combat move to Nazir, who had caught his mood and was laughing. Ahtar sighed: “but I guess not.”

“Have you had the conversation yet?” Vex wanted to know.

“Huh?” Ahtar frowned. “Maybe.”

“If you have to think about it, it hasn’t happened yet,” Vex told him, reaching up to thump him on the chest. “Catch up with you later. I gotta go get my boots cleaned."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Levels are an homage to Susan R. Matthew's beautiful and terrifying An Exchange of Hostages.


	11. I don't see why I have to ask your permission.

Nazir leaned back against the round cushions of the alcove, and reached for the cheese plate. He gazed at his latest prospect, careful to project the right impression of severity.

“Yeah, uh, I don’t wanna be giving anyone the wrong impression,” explained Ahtar, unnecessarily. 

He's fretting, thought Nazir. Good.

Astrid was busy finishing off what was left of the cracked-wheat cakes and runny Winterhold cheese. She looked tolerably amused.

“Really there’s somebody else who ought-- ah--”

Nazir allowed himself to sneer: "Really? You're not in charge of your own personal business?"

“What I got is somebody who’s got to weigh in on all this,” said Ahtar, more evenly. Now he was scowling back, evidently irritated, his gaze a challenge. 

Nazir was so looking forward to schooling that out of him. It was going to take some serious work, he knew. Adrienne had already been teasing him for always wanting to climb the next mountain.

So he smirked and said: "Ah! You have a duenna? A--"

Ahtar folded his arms: “I can tell which one a you is married. The one who ain’t laughing at me.”

Astrid made a low noise of amusement. “There is only one slight problem that we foresee,” Astrid said. Her voice shifted to disdain: “The Thalmor.”

“I wouldn't worry," said Ahtar to them. "He’s pretty good about staying ahead of the rest of 'em. Calling in political favors. Making up shit to keep them off his back. Even the First Emissary don’t mess with him too much these days.” 

Nazir watched Ahtar scratch at his cheek again. Did that scar ache? Did it bother him? Nazir believed that it did. He would find out. 

“Anyways," Ahtar finished. "You all should come up to the house. He’s not going to want to come down here; somebody else gets stupid, he’s gonna have to write a report says he don’t believe in this place. You know. Just a local rumor. Country people, you know how they get.” He laughed. “Be kind of hard for him to say he ain’t been down here if folks been seeing him.”

Nazir and Astrid exchanged glances. Astrid, it seemed, still had concerns.

"Cyr wouldn't be caught dead in this place," said Ahtar to Astrid. "And he's got no use for any of the rest of the Thalmor. Hates 'em, is what I think. So you don't got to worry about him getting too much into your business. He's got his own to mind. It'll be fine."


	12. Maybe you're just working too hard.

I threw the quill down against the desk and instantly regretted it; the ink spattered from the page all the way to the scroll-rack. What I wanted to do was throw this damned book against the wall; the words were not coming; it was-- Fury was still blinding me; I motioned for him to go away. Instead Ahtar cautiously came forward and took the book from my desk, placing it down out of reach.

“We-- ah-- can talk about all this later,” he said penitently. “I’ll clean up. You should go to bed; you ain’t getting nothing but-- ah fuck.”

“Go!” I quickly wiped the angry-wet from my face. 

“Stop it!” I hissed, as he gripped my arm to haul me up out of the chair and lead me to the bed.

“Nope,” he said, tugging at my sleeve. “When’s the last time you had a clean shirt? A meal?”

“Erdi brought me something,” I said, sullenly, letting him prise the shirt off me. “I can’t go to sleep now, I have to get this last chapter and the summation done! Danica--”

“Danica’s gonna fuckin’ wait,” said Ahtar, with finality. “Cause you’re going to sleep, and then you’re going to have a bath in the morning, and eat breakfast like a person an’ not like a mule with a feed bag; and then we’re gonna walk up to Dragonsreach, and--”

I was lying there in the bed, wondering how it was I had ever complained about sleeping too much; my mind was racing in a thousand unpleasant directions. My face and ears burned with shame. I buried more deeply into the coolth of the pillow. I could hear him moving around, shifting the things on the desk, cleaning the ink up. I hoped I hadn’t stained the wood of the desk, it was such a pretty thing. And it wasn’t mine; we were just leasing this house.

He shut our door, and latched it, and went to check the outside door and windows; the hatch to the attic and the one to the basement. All were locked; the spells holding tight. All of this just to humor me; to accommodate my foolishness. No one was coming here to spy out what we were doing. No one cared.

I could hear him toe off his slippers; the bed sank under him as he sat, groaning a little. Then he lay on his side, facing me, his hand tentatively stroking along my arm. I slid over, tucking myself into his embrace. Apologizing for being such a mess.

“Shh,” he murmured, kissing along the back of my neck. “Sleep.”


	13. Let's just get away for a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rather than look up property tax records or ownership platts, I have been prevailed upon to go on holiday, and to stop obsessing over all of this. Really, it's not like they're invading our curtilage or anything...

“If I don’t complete the book on time, Danica will have no choice but to recycle me for the next term. I will certainly be called to account over it. Not just by my own superiors in the Thalmor, but by my trustees back in Alinor.” I had been warming my hands on my cup, watching the little wisps of steam curl upwards like drifts of magicka. I looked up to meet Ahtar's gaze. “I'll have to admit that I couldn’t keep up,” I said.

Ahtar rolled his eyes and muttered some unflattering things about my House's trustees in Altmeris. “Maybe they oughta be happy, I don’t know, that you ain’t fucking dead. Or that you can do magicka at all.” Meaning the illness that I had recovered from before entering the College.

“It’s no excuse,” I said, referring to both my prior illness and last night's little outburst. “But I didn’t mean to get so overset, so you’re probably right that I should take a break. Where did you want to go today?” I drank. “Not Dragonsreach, though. Not Jorrvaskr. I don’t really feel like running stairs or sparring today. Maybe a nice long walk.”

Ahtar suggested that perhaps we ought to go up Pale Pass Road up to the borderpost, to see how Alfgar the Dovahkiin’s farm community was getting along; that worthy was still shilling for Blackthorn and we wanted to find out how well his advertisement compared to reality. That was a bit further than we had originally intended, but we could ride instead of walk, and I could bring my satchel along in case of need.

“That’s what, four days?” It could be two, one out and one back, but this time of year one needs to allow for weather. I mulled it over. “I’ll have to clear it with Danica, but--”

“No,” said Ahtar at once. “You’ll get caught up. I’ll tell her; I got to go talk to Vignar anyways. You get us packed up, see about the horses.” 

All seemed well in-hand up at the farm; we toured the fields and the bee-skeps and the small meadery. Mostly the farm supplied honey to Honningbrew; the mead production here was only for the local people. We sampled the product, which Ahtar said made his teeth ache. I liked it. I thought it was a pretty good second-best to Honningbrew and said so; the proprietress was not offended by the comparison. She didn’t have anything bad to say about the Dovhakiin’s oversight of the place, and allowed she’d worked for worse landlords by far. Apart from the honey production; there was a reasonable-sized truck farm, now mostly dormant with the fields sown in cover; and a small grist-mill for the winter wheat that would be brought in come Second Seed. There was even a small greenhouse with glazing and a fireplace, pretty flowering beds and some rather pampered bees. The farm apparently also sold flowers during the off-season months, for the Mara-blessings and such.

Everyone we met seemed to be in reasonable health; the cottages of the small-holders were well-kempt. There wasn’t much to do other than look at the cracked eyetooth of a miserable young Pale guardsman-- he needed to go down to Whiterun and Danica’s ministrations-- and distribute a few salves for the joint-ache and the catarrah and so on. Ahtar grumbled that this was not a proper vacation; but I said it would be just as well if I did the rounds whilst we were here. Barring catastrophe or contagion, it did not look like there would be much work for Danica and Ahlam here. The pregnant woman said she’d be going back to her kin in Dawnstar, closer to term. 

There might have been a little trouble at the border. We were getting close to the end of the planting-truce and the Pale and Whiterun guards were quite standoffish with each other. I was grateful to have brought my bag, and that I had had clove oil along for toothache. On the way home, Ahtar and I spent the night at Loreius farm, which was probably unnecessary due to the light of the moons and the continued fair weather, but the lady of the household hails from the Oleander Coast and longed for a conversation in Altmeris with her own kind. It would have been rude to refuse. We ended up staying up late by the fireside; and slept in until nearly noon.

We got back to the Whiterun stables close to sunset and returned the horses to Skulvar without incident. Time to head home, back to our own little sanctum of serenity. 

“The fuck’s that?” murmured Ahtar, as we got near the house. We could hear it from the road. 

We came in the side door only to find the place full of howling laughter and skirling music. A flutter of lace and silk caught my eye. Somebody was demonstrating a temple-dance on top of one of our better side-tables.

Erdi was there, flushed and happy, arguing volubly with a pretty dark-haired girl I didn’t know; Camilla was playing some odd-sounding flute-music, Olfina and a redhead were sorting through a tray of jewelry, and a very smug-looking Marcus was standing near a silver tray of sweetrolls, munching away. We retreated to my room and shut my door.

“Houseful of girls,” I said to Ahtar, unnecessarily, and winced at another joyous shriek.

Ahtar looked even more pained than I did. He went outside and came back. “Nope,” he said. “Farkas is still out there with his lady friend. I didn’t even wanna knock. Could stay at Jorrvaskr, I guess. He ain’t gonna be using his bed tonight.”

This wasn't the sort of thing that would bother a Companion; they aren't very squeamish.

“No,” I said, definitively. “Let’s go have a nice relaxing sauna and take a room at the Bannered Mare.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References in this chapter to Skyrim mod Heljarchen Farm, which is a cute little farm business you can refurbish and develop.


	14. Assuming that we can...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who was staying in the room right next door? [Ysolda and Vex.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17954345)
> 
> If you read raunchyandpaunchy's one-shot, this scene'll make a lot more sense. Warning: hers is a lot hotter than mine!

Ahtar took my hand: “Nope, no magicking the walls; Hulda gets upset.” He grinned. “You’re just gonna have to learn how to be quiet.” 

I was dubious about the lack of muffle-spells; but this was a rather busy establishment at times, and nobody had seen me come in this room. And the door-- I had re-checked-- was definitely locked.

We were happily nuzzling when we heard a crash, then muttering, and a loud thump. A door slammed shut. A feminine voice growled: “Useless slut.”

Ahtar’s hand covered my mouth. He turned his head to better listen. I pivoted an ear.

Somebody was getting schooled. I couldn’t tell who it was, though I thought maybe it was a lady I knew. She was gasping through all of her “yes miss”-ing, so it was hard to tell. Low moans… this was pleasure, not punishment.

A clink, a crack, a shriek, and then…the noises were repeated in rapid succession, interspersed with sobbing and wailing. Howls. A clink.. clink as whatever they were doing in there knocked some more coins off a table. Odd little wailing cries.

“Is she strangling a cat in there?” I hissed. 

"Some kinda pussy, at least." I could feel Ahtar's chest move as he quietly snickered.

Clink. Crack! 

What in Oblivion? I was completely baffled.

Ahtar’s chest and belly continued to ripple; he was laughing at me now, silently. He went back to tracing along my spine. I noted his bounding interest. We’d both flinched at every slap, but it’d had a vastly different effect on him. I pressed closer.

Whimpers. Murmurings. Distressful little cries of pain.

I shook Ahtar: “Come on, get back with me.”

“Sorry,” he whispered, and rolled both of us over. Followed by: “Uh! Hair!”

“Move your knee,” I gritted, struggling to get his locs out from under my shoulder. “I hate this bed,” I grumbled, clutching onto him as the mattress buckled and heaved. The bedframe groaned. Ahtar’s hands counseled patience, but I grabbed at him, insisting. He refused to cooperate, continuing to tease me. When he finally sank his full weight down onto me I must have cried out, because next door the noises stopped.

Silence.

We were frozen.

Giggles, cut off by an immediate remonstration.

Another sharp crack. Sobs, more disgruntled muttering, then a series of low moans, getting louder. Breathy little screams.

"Sing all you want," Ahtar murmured, in that voice only my bones can hear. "Ain't nobody gonna be listening to us."


	15. Look, we can't avoid each other forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what? These folks have their own thing going. Live and let live, that shall be our new motto. What they do in the privacy of their own little... cult or whatever it is... hardly concerns us. Does it? It does not. It'll be fine.

Ahtar grimaced. "Ah. Hey, Vex."

Vex bared her teeth back at him. "Hey." She was just emerging from the room next door.

"Just-- ah-- headed down to get cleaned up," he explained, uncomfortably.

"Yeah," said Vex, grimly.

Did she think that he'd been spying on her? Ahtar didn't want to look her in the eye either. He made a motion: Go ahead.

Vex resettled her bundle and walked past him, head and shoulders held high, her flush burning so brightly that even by lamplight Ahtar could see it along the parting of her hair. He forced the muscles of his back to relax, in turn, and for his shoulders to come down. He would not scuttle. He followed, but at a reasonable distance. Last thing he wanted to do was make her feel crowded. Vex had a way with knives that reminded him of Marcus, and despite the fact that she was clad only in her shirt, Ahtar wasn't going to bet on her being unarmed.

They walked single-file down the back stairs of the Bannered Mare in embarrassed silence.

\--

"Well, shit," Vex said, as she came back into the bathing area from the privies. Ahtar watched her surveying the situation. 

There were four tubs in the basement; Ahtar was currently occupying one of them. One held a lively party of six, who were drinking and carrying on; one held some girl who didn't know better and that dickhead bard; the third was three-quarters empty and cold, with something disturbingly slimy on its surface.

"Yeah, it's all right, Lucia," said Ahtar, resigned. "You might as well. Anyways you're in luck. Nobody in this tub wants to chat."

Vex scoffed. She filled a bucket from the tap and began to soap and rinse herself. Ahtar closed his eyes, shifting only when she stepped up into the tub, moving his legs so that she could have room. Vex sighed; the water was still nice and hot.

"Good," she said. "I got no complaints. 'Cept one." Her eyes were slitted against the water-droplets and steam. "Don't call me Lucia. Call me by my name."

"Okaaay," said Ahtar, because her attempt at being sinister was just too funny. "Lucia Vecellllllia." 

"Don't you fucking call me that. I will end you."

"Save it for those pretty little girls," Ahtar advised, greatly amused. "You don't got nothing that's gonna scare me."

"I could call you by your full name," she retorted. "Gaius Decianus Sullllla."

Ahtar laughed. "You go ahead," he said. "I don't give a fuck."

"Your Thalmor buddies know all about that?"

"Just the one," said Ahtar. "Prob'ly a real thrill for him when I take it, but I dunno. He ain't never said anything about it."

Vex squinted at him. "You gettin' married again?" she wanted to know. "Got him around a long time now."

"Nah," he said, easily. "Thalmor don't like that; we're breaking their rules all kinds of ways. So they'd come down here and take care of us for certain if they knew. You'd know about it, everybody'd know about it. Be a hell of a mess. You think you all play your games well, you should see what they do when they really get going." He frowned. "Or, you know--we'd just be disappeared."

"Well, shit," said Vex. "Guess I'll keep my eyes open."

"Yeah," said Ahtar. "Thanks. Anyone asks about him, especially Thalmor, it's all Erdi. Don't give that shit up easy, either." He thought about it. "And if we suddenly drop out of sight without word--"

"I got it," said Vex. And: "Your hair's getting all fucked up."

"Dealin' with it tomorrow," Ahtar said, comfortably. So he didn't care if it got wet.

He put his head back against the ledge, and they soaked in silence for awhile. The idiots next to them had finally gotten out and were toweling off; though that jackass Mikael was still murmuring to his lady-friend over in the far tub, all sickly-sweet promises and shit that Ahtar didn't really want to hear. Another girl came downstairs, saw the bard, and slammed her way into the nearby privy area.

"That's Ysolda," said Vex, distantly. "She'll be in here in a minute." She sighed. "Dunno what's going on with her and that guy, but whatever it is, it's got her all caught up. Thought I'd got her relaxed by now."

"Ah," said Ahtar, moving his legs off the seat. "You want me to go slap that fucker's head for you? So's you don't have to get up?"

Vex yawned. "Nadine took care of that last week. Didn't seem to make a difference. Mikael just keeps getting dumber."

The bard looked over at his name, but was wise enough to let it go when he saw who was in the tub.

When Ysolda came in, Vex sat up and called her over. Ahtar got up and moved so that the two of them could sit facing away from Mikael's tub. Vex wrapped an arm about her and tugged her down further into the water, purring something at her. Ysolda sighed and nestled into her. Then her eyes opened:

"Ah. Hello," she said, and gave her name. "I don't think..." She and Ahtar didn't really know each other except by sight, in passing.

"You seen me over at Jorrvaskr," Ahtar said, amused. "Erdi's one of my housemates, if that helps."

Ysolda wanted to know what he was doing here, instead of his own house.

"The party," he said. "Wasn't in the mood, so found a quieter--Heh." He snorted. "Place to be." Before she could get all embarrassed, he said: "Sorry about all the noise."

That won him a laugh, at least. 

Ysolda went back to cuddling with Vex, and Ahtar sank back, content.


	16. Glad you finally decided we should chat.

"Good," I said. "I was hoping to run into you."

I made it sound like a happy accident, and not like I'd been waiting in a chair at Honningbrew for most of the day, waiting for Nazir to show up. Drevis Neloran isn't the only mage on Nirn capable of Illusion magick. I sometimes wonder about him. A simple don't-notice-me spell is much cheaper to maintain than Invisibility, and much less flashy. In my opinion. The only bad spot had been when Nimriel had put her bottle-rack of Special Reserve down on my lap. At least she had not sat down.

Nazir acknowledged.

"Outside," I suggested.

We took a few bottles with us, and climbed up to sit up under the sheltering roof of Elysium's cowshed, where we keep the extra hay. It's nice and warm, completely sheltered from the elements, and boasts a view for miles in every direction except south, where the mountain rises cliff-wise from our back yard.

I let Nazir try to explain; there was no point in trying to have a discussion till he was done.

"I know all of that," I said, impatiently, at length. " I flexed my hands. I was on the brink of finally attaining my Adept status in Restoration magick, did he think this sort of thing didn't get covered? Danica was rather thorough in her practical instruction. Certainly I'd had to help treat a couple of sad-and-sorry Sanguine cultists who'd needed welts salved and soothing sit-baths. 

"Former priestess of Dibella in the household, remember?" I advised. "So I don't need an orientation, thank you."

Nazir's brow had risen; he was not used to being talked to like that. Tough.

When he started to speak; I interrupted: "Have you seen that mark on his arm?"

Nazir frowned. "No," he said.

Ah. Good. Too bad it wasn't likely to stay that way. 

"It's not some Legion thing," I said. "It's a brand from one of our Houses, put there when he was a relatively small child. It dates from the fall of Rihad. I know what House sanctioned it, and which mer did it; both are long dead." 

Nazir drew a breath, but I went on: "He remembers almost nothing of that time. Even if you tell him, his mind cannot retain it. Altmeris is his milk-language now; he cannot speak Yoku or even learn it." That House had been traditionally-minded, in several very ugly respects.

My gaze was on the far distance.

"I tried," I said to Nazir, wearily. "And I'm certain that the General tried; the Seventeenth had good mages at that time. But ours are better; and I can only surmise that the kinlord in question wished to conceal his own crimes." 

I glanced over at him; at the motionless silhouette he made against the darkening sky.

"Ahtar is a name the General helped him pick from a book; his epithet's one of the General's little-used honorifics. In case you're wondering why he has a Crown first name and a Forebear epithet; or the reverse. Whichever. I can never keep it all straight. So I wouldn't do anything foolish like trying to determine who his family was; or even, what was his name. None of it is real. Whatever was real, is gone."

This time I turned my head to better study the tense lines of Nazir's face and neck.

"Please don't do me the discourtesy of imagining yourself to be angrier about it than I am," I said.

We did not speak for a while.

When I saw Nazir relax enough to drink, I went on: "Thankfully the Second Council held a similar opinion of the matter, so the Dominion did not have to endure the obscenity of enshrining the creature who did this as a war hero. When they called him home, he thought he was going to a triumph; what he got was his own erasure. Execution, attainder with all property forfeit to the government, the House name stricken and his family dissolved. His name is not spoken. He is gone."

Nazir made a noise suggesting disbelief, and then a disparaging comment.

"You're right," I said. "We don't have any tender feelings about human progeny." 

I drank my own mead.

"The actual orders from Alinor had been to kill every inhabitant if the city did not surrender," I said. "Disregard of orders?" I laughed without humor. "You can get away with that, if you win. Not so much, when you lose." My thumb rubbed across the bottle label. "Commit atrocious crimes? That can be shrugged off, if you know the right people. But-- bringing the Dominion shame, before the face of our enemy? That we do care about. A great deal." It had been the Second Council's shot across General Arannelya's bow. She kept her command on a tighter rein thereafter, but it was already too late for her own aspirations.

Next Nazir wanted to know about Ahtar's epithet.

"It's al-Skaven," I said, distantly. "An honor bestowed on the General, at least in part for the ruse he played on his own command." Ordered to abandon Hammerfell, General Decianus had obeyed-- but only after discharging a good number of 'invalids' who were actually fit. These men formed the cadre which re-organized the same Hammerfell militias which crossed the Alik'r to ensure Arannelya's ultimate defeat. She had lost. 

There seemed to be rain coming in, along the western horizon; I frowned at it. The ground was already becoming a mess; by morning it would be nearly impassable and the rutted road would be nightmarish. I hoped that we'd laid enough provisions in for the next couple of weeks, and resolved to rub more dreugh wax into my boots.

"This is all just the tip of the knife," I advised Nazir. "We haven't even gotten into the things that he does remember, and that he really ought not share. You will want to restrain yourself from asking curious questions; you would not believe the things I have inadvertently learned. The taste of human flesh, stewed; the smell of one's own eyeball when it is burnt and burst. The cry of-- well." I smiled, a little ruefully. "Memory-magic. I cannot unremember no matter what I will. He is always very regretful about it in the morning."

Nazir was deeply unhappy: "What in specific should I not ask about?"

"He was with Ulfric when that debacle happened with the Forsworn," I told him. "That's probably the worst of it. Don't let him talk to you about Markarth, it will only give you nightmares." I sighed. "It does not make him feel better to talk about it; he just cries and says he did terrible things."

"His face," said Nazir, suddenly.

I nodded.

"I once got set on fire by a sorcerer. Nasty business, that," mused Nazir.

"Did you find the healing to be worse than the burn itself?" I asked.

He grunted.

"He spent about a year wholly blind," I said. "Erdi tells me they had to leave the skin of his arm open for quite some time as well." I drank again. "You'll see it. He hates the face, but the arm and back are worse. The skin on his arm and back feels tough--it's all stiffened, but it's thin, and brittle. Splits easily, and heals poorly." I looked at him. "It cannot be magickally healed. Potions do little good."

Nazir nodded. The expression on his face was interesting, to say the least. When he started, tentatively, to ask something more personal, I snorted derision. 

"Did you think I brought you up here to warn you off because I was jealous?" Well, yes I was jealous, but that was my own issue. It was not why he and I were having this conversation. "I certainly don't care what bed-games you like to play," I said. "Why would I care? That's hardly my business. It's only--" 

I made myself stop for a long moment, to consider how I should put this. While I was at it, I finished the dregs of my last bottle of mead, running my tongue over my teeth, to savor the last bit of it.

"I thought it would be better to caution you, before this went on much further," I said, finally. "You or I could take him apart in five minutes, and with no more than words. It would remain to be seen whether any of us could put him back together." I regarded this man, trying to get his measure, which was not easy. 

There was not much more for me to say, beyond: "Do take care." All of this fuss, really, for no more than those three words.

Nazir had said nothing. I glanced over at him. His dark eyes were cold, flat, and unmoving. "Shall I consider that my warning?" he said, too smoothly. I'd wondered when the Alik'r assassin would finally rear fanged head from sleepy coils. And here it was.

Tempting, to match his attitude in kind, but: "We're both professionals," I said, peaceably, turning the empty bottle about in my hands. "No need for threats."


	17. You know... Clear the air?

Nazir found himself pacing, and that was unusual indeed.

Vex happened to walk past him, arms full of clean towels. She passed too close to him and he growled, causing her to skitter a couple of steps away. Not fear, just a fellow predator's sensible precaution. He watched her restock the cabinet, arms folded the while.

"What's up your ass today?" she asked, returning.

He didn't dignify that with a verbal response.

A pale brow rose: "Sorry for asking. Now if you don't mind getting out of my way, I'd like to finish up this little chore."

Nazir moved aside so that Vex could kneel down to get under the table. She counted the blankets and stacked them, evidently making note of what was needed.

"Gonna have to restock more often if you and the new boy toy're gonna play pillow fort again. Or whatever that was you were doing the other day."

Nazir remained silent.

"How's that going, by the way?" Vex persisted. "Kinda been wondering--"

"Shut up." That came out nastier than Nazir had intended. 

"Fine," snapped Vex. "You don't wanna know what I know, I'm off."

"A moment," he said, urgently. Vex paused, but did not turn around. "Is Astrid here yet?" he demanded. "Or Adrienne? If you could let them know--"

Still without turning around, Vex made a gesture of assent. She kept on walking.

\--

"So you see--" Nazir stopped. He sighed. "I am at a loss for words," he said. "I must be losing my faculties. Has anyone else here noticed?"

Astrid was chuckling. 

Ulfberth picked up his fork and started eating again. It was whitefish seared off in butter and spices, still sizzling on its iron plate. Nadine had been cooking for them again. There was also a huge pile of wilted greens, redolent of garlic.

"I just find it entertaining that he gave you an entire list," said Adrienne. "Written out, even." 

Astrid was chortling now, damn her. 

"I adored the little caveat he gave you at the end," Astrid said. "So very genteel."

"Outstanding," said Nazir, glumly. He began to eat his fish before it cooled off. "Do this, not that. Or else. I love being stage-managed by someone who isn't even on-scene. And I can't wait to meet the rest of the Thalmor. Assuming a slipup." 

Drevis Neloran had already eaten his portion of the main course in the kitchen. He patted Nazir on the shoulder and then reached for the list.

"My," was all that he said.

"I suppose that I will be permitted to raise my voice somewhat," said Nazir, his lip curled. "Perhaps even make a tutting sound?" He removed an offending fish bone and pushed at his vegetables, considering. "Oh, that may be going a bit too far."

"Let me see that again," said Adrienne. Her brow furrowed. "No blindfold, no fire, no heat, no cold feigning-heat. No..." She paused. "Damn. Oh, dear. This is going to be touchy."

"In case anyone has any doubts about the level of possessiveness that list entails," said Nazir. "That Justiciar told me what became of the property of that lord, the one who thought it would be an amusing conceit to make slaves of Rihad's children. He bought it."

"I'm sorry?" Drevis didn't follow.

"The Justiciar I spoke to: he bought it," said Nazir, reaching for more fish. It wasn't as good, cooled off, but that didn't mean it was not excellent as it was. "Thousands upon thousands of acres, a derelict kinship hall, and I presume dozens of tenant farmers and so on." He passed the potatoes to Astrid. "He took care to tell me that he didn't actually want any of those things; he simply wanted the symbols that had traditionally belonged to that household, which were in some sense connected with its property. Sacred groves and so on. So it was lucky that the government still had the property listed for sale." He finished chewing. "Many, many thousands of septims," he clarified. "Just so that he could claim the ownership rights over the mark that is on that man's arm."

Drevis was nodding.

"Why not just brand over the mark?" asked Astrid. "Isn't he a Restoration mage? Couldn't he make that painless?"

"But the act of doing so would be so very upsetting," Nazir pointed out, indicating the list.

Drevis asked, curious, "So what did that Thalmor do with the rest of the estate?"

"Ordered that the peasantry and so on be evicted and then had every structure on the place burned to the ground." Nazir scooped out some potatoes and handed them round again to Ulfberth, who took the last of them. He took a few bites. More garlic. Heavenly. Nazir would be tasting it for days, but right now it was worth it. "Had the stonework knocked down, dug up, and strewn. Said he ordered there be not a stone left on a stone." 

Adrienne had been right; the food was making Nazir feel better. That was the only explanation for the warm glow of fellow-feeling he had for that damned Thalmor Justiciar. Had Nazir made the purchase, he would have given the same order.

Astrid snorted: "You've been told." She topped off her wine. "As our Vex says, don't muck it up."

But Drevis looked impressed. "Did he leave the sacred groves intact?" he wanted to know. 

"I believe he said he did," Nazir said. 

Drevis made a sound; that had meant something to him. Nazir would get it out of him later.

"And had the worker families re-homed in more salubrious conditions," Nazir went on. "He said that working for the Dominion government itself directly is--" He mopped up the last bit of the brown butter. "Hm. Unpleasantly spartan."

"Always thought that there was some social consequence," mused Drevis. "Savos warned me. He said that the Thalmor Advisor at the College is supposed to be overseeing that one. But he doesn't-- they all walk wide around him." He drank more of his wine. "Maybe you should too."

"It is a little late for that," said Nazir.

"Ah," said Adrienne. "Well, just say the word. We're here to help."


	18. Tell you what, I'll let you go.

Ahtar leaned forward: “Not sure.” His fingers turned the carved wooden piece over and over as he waited for the assassin’s response.

Nazir raised a sardonic brow and scoffed.

Ahtar exhaled slowly. Carefully he slotted away the spearman into the place where it belong, and shut the padded case. “C’mon, I gotta go ask.”

He ignored the other Redguard’s snort of disbelief. Hadn’t Nazir ever had to live with other people?

The elf wasn’t in his room, but his work-satchel and hood were still hanging up on the rack. Oh, right. It was a teaching day. Ahtar made for the basement door.

“What’s this?” questioned Nazir, pleasantly, just loudly enough that heads turned. “Your own little dungeon?”

“Work rooms. Shrine. Lecture space,” said Ahtar, short with him. Did he have to talk like that in front of students? Well, it could be worse, he thought, as the five of them returned their attention to the alchemy table. They thought Nazir was just joking.

Cyrelian resumed: “So as you can see, the cell structure of the fritillary is extremely tough. You could have your apprentices spend a great deal of time and hand-strength reducing it to fine powder, or--” He took the bottle of triple-distilled alcohol down off the shelf.

Ahtar recognized several of the earnest faces. Olfina. Torvar. Jennsen. Arcadia’s newest apprentice... whatsername. Ahlam sat in the corner, taking notes and observations for Danica Purespring, the Restoration Master who was Cyrelian’s preceptor. Cyrelian, thank Kyne for mercy, had not heard Nazir at all. Finishing his demonstration, he looked up; and after he got his students working on the next step, came over to them, wiping his hands off on his apron.

“Hey, that was pretty good,” said Ahtar. “Maybe even I could learn how to make soma-salve next, if you’re going to explain it all simple like that.”

Cyrelian nodded, his gaze a little distant. His mind was still in its teacher-space. “Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked.

“Nah,” said Ahtar. “Just letting you know I was going out for awhile, probably not back till close to midnight. Maybe even longer if we run into Alfgar. I gotta talk to him about that project he wants help with in the south Rift.”

“And where are you going to be?” he was asked, the unspoken question being: who with?

Ahtar shrugged, to indicate Nazir. “You know. Over there.”

Cyrelian sighed. “Do try to bring him back in one piece,” he said to Nazir.

“No promises,” said Nazir.


	19. Because I really am very sorry--

“Oh!” said Erdi. “I thought I heard the front gate open, but I wasn’t certain.” She set down the buckets and the milking-stool to come forward, tugging her work-apron back into place.

“Sorry,” said the pretty dark-haired girl, blushing a little. She held a large linen-covered basket in both arms and it smelled delicious. “I didn’t know you were outside or I would have hello’d the house. I was just going to knock on the door.” She proffered the basket, drawing back the linen to show off what was within. “Here. Marcus told me that you and your housemates had to spend the day cleaning up after me and my friends, so…”

Erdi bent to take a look. “How lovely!” she said, inhaling deeply.

The girl smelled just as witchingly-good as the food. A perfume both subtle and expensive, rose and amber resin. Plenty of velvety skin on display, too, cunningly accented by a bodice that was cut just-so and a sark edged with needle-lace. Delicious.

“Apology pies,” the girl was saying. “For dinner. One’s pork-and-elves' ear; one’s fish. Nazir said that one of you doesn’t eat meat? And there’s a dried-pear tart.”

Erdi paused. She was having a hard time remembering for some reason, there had been a lot of new people over that night. She did remember admiring somebody’s silk-ribbon embroidered petticoat...

“Nadine,” said the girl, dimpling. Enchanting.

Erdi glanced up at the sun. “Give me a few minutes to see to milking the cow and goats and I’ll be in,” she said. “Why not get the table get set up for dinner? If you have time to stay, that is.” She brushed a bit of straw from her apron, and took up her things.

Nadine was hesitant.

"You’d be more than welcome,” Erdi coaxed, smiling. “And I’d love to have some company for dinner. There’s a bottle of Gold Coast wine I’ve been wanting to open but it’s not worth it for just one person…” She paused a bit, as if she were thinking. Or admiring the view. The late-afternoon light had touched the younger woman's hazel eyes with lambent gold. 

“Will white wine go with pork pie, do you think?" Erdi said, temptingly. "Bottle’s on the counter if you want to take a look.”

\--

Erdi dished up portions with the elegant ease of long practice. Nadine made admiring noises at how pretty she'd made their servings, and Erdi could have put her hand just there, at the back of the other woman's neck. She hesitated. They were just at the opening steps of this dance, and-- Erdi had forgotten something. Or rather, someone.

“Be right back,” she said, with rather less enthusiasm. She put together another plate. 

Erdi tapped on Cyrelian’s door. There was no answer. She nudged it. It was unlocked, so she went in, and carefully slid a couple of empty plates away from the corner of the desk before setting down the laden dish. So far as she could tell, her presence didn’t even register. Cyr was muttering something under his breath and working back and forth between a wax tablet and a couple of bits of foolscap. She shut the door on her way out.

“Not going to share the wine with him,” she said to Nadine on her return, settling her striped linen napkin on her lap. “It’d be a waste, Cyr wouldn’t even taste it, anyway. I think he’s finally getting somewhere with his book, so I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“It’s good with the pork,” said Nadine, taking another drink, and savoring it thoughtfully. She dabbed the moisture that dewed her upper lip with her napkin. “But I don’t think it brings out the best in the fish. The fish needs something with a little more bite.”

Erdi concurred. “Well, if it goes with ale, Ahtar’ll be happy,” she said. “He’s off running an errand for Kodlak, but he’ll be back later on, he said.” She cleared her throat. “Unless he ends up with your crew again.” She tried hard not to sound censorious, but-- 

Nadine'd heard it. She paused. “Not too likely,” she said. “Most of us don’t come in till Fredas, and Nazir wasn't there yet when I left." She picked up the pastry-crust of the fish pie in her fingers and taking another swift bite. Quite unconsciously, she licked the little flakes of crumbs from her hand. She glanced up, hazel eyes bright-- and caught Erdi watching her. 

Nadine tilted her head: “You don’t approve,” she said, smiling.

That had not actually been the reason that Erdi had been staring. 

To cover her little faux paux, Erdi reached for the wine-bottle and topped off their goblets, mentally scolding herself: she would not blush and stammer like some girl barely into the novitiate. I am out of practice, she thought, ruefully. She regarded Nadine. Perhaps she ought to explain a little more.

“This is just such a terrible time for Cyr,” Erdi confided, pouring Nadine the last little bit in the bottle. “He doesn’t deal well with this kind of thing at the best of times, and now he’s got that book to finish and its defense… and then, if all goes well, we have to deal with his people coming out here for the ceremony. Danica isn’t going to leave Whiterun Hold for that length of time, so it has to be here. And if the thought of Thalmor coming to Elysium gives me hives, it’s going to be doubly bad for Cyrelian. And now this business with Ahtar and Nazir.” She drank: “Pretty sure they could settle it if they all sat down and-- you know-- actually talked about it, but they won’t. Men.”

Nadine agreed, darkly. They finished their wine.

“Want to go out back to the hot spring?” Erdi suggested. “I’ve got a few extra robes. And there's a little deck, and a fireplace. It's pretty.”

So, after Erdi poured out the milk out into its pannikins for the morning's cream-rising, and packed up the leftovers of their supper into the cold storage, the two of them went outside.

\--

“Agh! Chilly!” Nadine's teeth chattered as she shivered, twisting and turning to get out of her overly-complicated undergarments. She tugged at a difficult lace and finally managed to squirm out of her corset.

“Get yourself all the way into the water," said Erdi, amused. "You'll warm up quick." Rather than be caught ogling again, she knelt to adjust the flue of the outdoor fireplace and stacked a few more logs into place. “And if it gets too cold there’s always the guesthouse if we need to go inside. We finally have it back again.”

She regaled Nadine with the story of the condition that she’d found it in, once Farkas and his lady friend had vacated; certainly the mess that Nadine had made paled by comparison.

It wasn't much of a conversation; hardly worth the mention; but she held the other woman's rapt interest. Droplets from the hot spring's mists starred Nadine's dark locks and dappled her invitingly-pinkened skin. Erdi used the excuse of sinking down further into the water to slide a bit closer to her on the bench.

“Hey,” said Marcus, coming up onto the deck. “Something in the house smells absolutely delicious. And I heard voices. Want company?” 

No, thought Erdi. Go away. She scowled at him, hoping he'd take the hint.

Marcus was already unclasping his coat and pulling off his heeled boots, heedless of any interruption. Clearly he was not about to wait for anyone's permission. Nadine had already cheerfully agreed, so there wasn't much Erdi could say about it. 

“You always hear voices,” she grumbled, instead. And: “Your hair will get all--”

Marcus jumped up onto the rocks and then catapulted himself down into the water with a tremendous splash. He surfaced, flicked his hair back, and grinned at at them.

“Were saying?”

“Now we’ve got water in our mead,” Erdi complained. She examined her cup, tilting it, then stood up and tossed its contents far out onto the grass. As Erdi turned back to sit down, she happened to catch Nadine's gaze. The younger woman bit her lip and looked aside, flushing more brightly.

“You didn’t want to drink mead on top of all that wine, anyways,” Marcus was pointed out, not helpfully. Nosey brat. “And there’s more towels in that chest. He frowned. “I think.” He scooted forward, happily oblivious. “So. What were we discussing?”

“I was just complaining about the mess in the guesthouse,” said Erdi. “Crumbs, a general sort of stickiness.” She scowled. “Dog hair everywhere. Filth tracked in. It was something else.” Another hard look at Marcus.

Marcus remained completely obtuse. "It was nasty," he agreed, and frowned thoughtfully: "So--I was hoping you wanted to talk business.”

“Oh?” said Erdi, at once. This pretty little dance with Nadine had been captivating-- but play was one thing; work another. Erdi hadn't had any good leads on adventuring work in a month, and--

“Ysolda’s got something interesting,” Marcus said. “We were talking at the party. I might go check it out if you’re game.”

“Will it take muscle?” Erdi wanted to know.

“Not so much. Finesse sort of thing, so if I’m going to have somebody watching my back--” he paused. “Rather it be you.”

“Maybe,” she agreed, cautiously. “Cyrelian’s kind of wrapped up right now.”

“Just put a pile of cheese and bread next to his desk, he won’t starve,” scoffed Marcus. “Do him good to be self-sufficient for a change.”

“It’s not that,” said Erdi.

“Ahhh.” Marcus looked concerned. “Ahtar doesn’t listen. I told him, don’t mess with those people...” 

Marcus! Remember what company you're in, Erdi did not say. Deliberately, she scrunched up her face in a wince: rudeness.

Marcus looked at Nadine. "Sorry," he said, offhandedly. And, to Erdi. "It's only a one-day trip. I'll meet you here next Fredas at dawn, if you're interested. It's only a couple hundred apiece but Ysolda offered to give you a deal on supplies."

"That'll be fine," agreed Erdi. "Be good to get some work for a change."

They were quiet.

“Was that a shooting star?” asked Nadine, startled.

“It’s the right time of year for them,” Erdi agreed, looking skyward. She took the excuse to move onto the bench beside Nadine, slipping an arm about her. "There," she said, pointing at a far-off constellation. "That's where you see the most of them." 

Marcus had been watching the two of them, frowning the while. Erdi watched it finally dawn on him that he was intruding. He got up, to briskly go someplace else.

As soon as his foot made contact with the deck, Marcus yelped: “Cold!”

“Told you,” said Erdi, unsympathetic. 

Nadine giggled, and leaned close in to try to whisper something. Erdi could hear Marcus cursing and ploshing his way across the sodden rugs to investigate the chests and shelves which would prove to contain no towels. Erdi seized the opportunity. Nadine still tasted of the mellow wine they'd been drinking. She put her arms up about Erdi's shoulders, but then--

"Bal's prick!" Marcus had made the discovery that the towels that Erdi had put up near the fireplace would be not just damp, but useless. "These are completely soaking wet!" He threw them down and said: "So why hasn't anyone restocked this place? Where's--" His voice was rising; getting louder-- he was going to continue until he got their attention. 

Erdi sighed, aggrieved.

Nadine, looking past her, smirked. "Just look at him," she said and made a little gesture with thumb and forefinger where Marcus couldn't see it. 

Erdi snorted--"Believe me, it's just the cold water," she murmured. Marcus made an aggrieved noise and Erdi said, more loudly: You’re all over giant goose-pimples." To Nadine, more quietly: "And one tiny goosepimple."

Nadine started giggling. 

Marcus continued to glare at the two of them, suspiciously. He knew they were making fun of him. Too bad.

"And your hair! It looks like Vaermina's gotten angry with you again. Woo-oo-ah! " Erdi mimed its wild explosion of curls, and she and Nadine dissolved back into gales of laughter. "Get fresh towels for us, you idiot," Erdi said, once she was capable of speech.

Marcus, muttering to himself, was picking the rugs up to shake the water over them. He went to sling them up over the deck-railing and nearby low-hanging tree branches. 

"Mind you, that IS a nice view," murmured Nadine, as they watched him work. 

"Mm?...oh? Marcus? Marcus is just a friend," Erdi advised. Should she say something, or would Nadine think she was just being--? Still. "Things can get pretty complicated with Marcus," Erdi warned. "He has his own little ways."

Marcus overheard her and rolled his eyes, making an unnecessary elaborate hand-and-arm gesture. "Are you getting out just now?" he demanded. "Like, right now?"

"Take your time," said Nadine, tolerantly. Erdi drew breath to say something else, but Nadine kissed the back of her neck. Erdi subsided.

Marcus was picking up his things, still grumbling. "Aaagh," he said, holding up that beautiful coat. "Look at this." He shook it, mournfully. Those beautiful boots of his would have water-spots, too, thought Erdi. Marcus shrugged off the waste. "Was thinking about a change anyways, not sure all this is working for me," he said.

He glanced up at Erdi. "I've got some bookwork to do and then I'll turn in. Um. I'll stay out here in the guesthouse, if that's all right? I'll be out of your way." His charming smile--he knew very well he was imposing, again. "See you on Fredas dawn if I don't see you before that," he said. "Um. Not tomorrow. The one after that."

Marcus was staying this whole week? Through next Fredas? At least he seemed to have some notion that it would be best for him to stay out of Cyrelian's hair.

He picked up the armload of his wet clothing and turned to go.

"Do you want any of the pie?" asked Erdi. "There's plenty left over. The pear tart is almost gone-- we ate most of it. Feel free to take the rest."

Marcus paused: "Yeah," he said. He took his clothing into the guesthouse. He emerged fully dressed in a robe and sheepskin scuffs, and then went along to the main house, returning with a full plateful balanced on top of a stack of fresh robes and towels. Very carefully he set all of this down onto the last dry chair on the deck.

“I know,” he said, to Erdi’s glare as he started to go to the guesthouse with his food. “No crumbs.” And, chewing as he walked: "This is really good."

“I’m dying to know where he got that eye stuff,” said Nadine, enviously. “It didn’t even smudge.”

“Better go knock on the door now, and ask him,” counseled Erdi. “My bet is that by tomorrow it’ll be too late. He won’t even know what you’re talking about.”

Nadine looked quite puzzled. Explaining Marcus' quirks was not easy. Erdi fell silent.

“So was that shrine to Dibella here when you moved in?” Nadine wanted to know, changing the subject. Her arms slid about Erdi's waist.

Erdi looked up towards the statuette which held pride of place above Elysium's hot spring. 

“No,” Erdi said. “I found her at the foot of a little wayside shrine out in the Rift. Vandals had stolen all the metal and left her broken off and just lying there on the ground. I tried to make repairs, but it was no good. So I de-consecrated the site and recovered what I could, and brought her home. Cyr got her pieced back together with the help of some Alteration Magick and Ahtar put her up there for me.” She sighed. “I’d love to re-consecrate her as a shrine, but that’s kind of an awkward spot, and I’m afraid that we wouldn’t be able to get flowers up there all that often. They won’t grow there, on the rocks.” 

When she sighed mournfully, Nadine kissed her again. This went on for awhile.

"If you wouldn't mind," said Nadine, drawing back. More hesitantly: "I'd sort of like to ask you some questions about Markarth's Dibellan rites. If-- if you can answer them." 

Erdi stood up and ran her hands through her short hair, pushing the wet out of it. It was school her demeanor--as Cyr would put it-- or find herself grinning like a lunatic.

"Of course! I'd be happy to...but," Erdi looked at the door to the guesthouse. 

"How many times, do you think, is Marcus going to come over to the house to find boot-black or get another bottle of ale, or raid the larder...it's Marcus," she said, to Nadine's expression. "There will always be some excuse. So we'd better go up to my room." She smiled at Nadine. "Are you ready to get out?"


	20. --You do deserve a little fun.

Erdi decided not to bother drying her hair. It was plenty warm, up in her lofted room under Elysium's eaves, and her hair was short enough that she'd gotten most of the water out. Instead she handed the extra towel to Nadine, who promptly wrapped her long, thick locks up in it. 

“Ahh- that’s much nicer than having the wet dribble down my back,” said Nadine. “Thanks!” 

"Are you warm enough?" asked Erdi. "I could start the stove, but it'll get warm up here pretty fast." She pulled another couple of thick blankets off the shelf and set them on the floor nearby the floor pillows, where Nadine could reach.

"It's good," said Nadine. "I'm sure my feet will get warmer in a moment." She took a blanket and wrapped her legs up in it, and sat quietly for a moment, gazing around. “It’s so pretty up here! I always wanted a small cozy place like this for my very own,” she said. “And I love how your bed is tucked into the floor! However did you get all of your books up here?” 

“We put in a little lift,” said Erdi, pointing to a small door in the short half-wall, and its winding-crank. “Good for drinks and such, too,” she said, demonstrating by opening it and taking out a couple of bottles. “That’s where I keep the mead. Stays colder in there.” 

Erdi moved to the small shelf and turned the lantern to spark and light it. “It’s from Wrothgar,” she responded, to Nadine’s exclamation of delight. “I don’t like the thought of candles up here, so close to the thatch roof.” Then she touched the little vine that was stranded up through all of the beams and posts and Nadine gasped. 

“And that,” Erdi said, smugly, “Is from Shimmerene. It’s fairy lights, made to look like a grapevine. Cyr had it sent here for me. It's a little set-spell. Alteration magick. Pretty, yes?” 

Nadine allowed that it was, it looked just like stars. She gestured towards the rack that held no more than an extra robe and pair of slippers-- “Where do you keep all of your clothes?” she wanted to know. 

“One of the wardrobes near the guest bath,” Erdi said. “And I keep my armor down on its racks in the little workshop downstairs. There’s just not enough space for a proper dressing room up here under the eaves.” 

“That spot there looks pretty empty,” said Nadine, pointing to the far corner. There wasn’t anything over there but a small wall-hanging and large window, near another hatch in the floor. "You could put another wardrobe there. A small one." 

“Escape route," Erdi explained. We  might have to get out of here in a hurry someday, so I have to keep it clear.” Erdi shrugged off Nadine’s concern. “Thalmor. Pays to be careful, when having to deal with them. Cyr’s pretty smart about all that, and so far he's kept them away from us. So we listen to him.” 

“I, um, meant to ask,” said Nadine, more hesitantly. “About him. Are the two of you--” 

Erdi laughed merrily. “I'm not going to touch that question. If there's one thing I'm not ever going to talk about, it's how we--" she stopped. 

Nadine was still listening closely, so she leaned forward. "I’m my own person, you know? I'm not anybody's woman. It could never be like that with him-- what you're really asking, I mean.” She became very serious-- this was important. “It’s not like that with me. Not with anyone,” she said, more carefully. “Ever. No matter what. This can’t ever be anything but fun.” 

“I think I understand,” said Nadine. 

Erdi asked a few more careful questions until she had determined to her satisfaction that yes, Nadine did.

“Two rules about being up here,” said Erdi, more severely. 

Nadine's face lit up: "Hmm?”

“The first rule is that you were never here,” Erdi said. “This place is my own little sanctum, got it? Nobody gets to come up here but me. If Cyr and Ahtar ever find out I have guests, they’d never stop asking. So-- shh!”

“What’s the other?” Nadine wanted to know, her eyes dancing. 

“We have to be quiet,” Erdi cautioned. “We’re right above Cyr’s room, and he's working down there. It’s hard to-- what does he call it-- maintain deniability if he can hear every single thing that goes on.” 

Nadine frowned and tilted her head, listening intently. Erdi watched her lie down on the floor and press her ear to it. Her fingers drummed on the floorboards in an odd pattern, establishing a little cantrip. Then she sat up. 

“Are you ever able to hear anything coming up from down there?” Nadine asked. 

Erdi thought about it. “Not really,” she said. “But we're directly on the floor, and don't you think sound would carry through it?” 

“Two-way muffle spell,” declared Nadine, with certainty. “It’s kind of impressive, actually. It's not the usual sort of blobbity mess either-- it's rather subtle. Two or three of them, stacked to allow for vents, so that the magickal flow doesn't get all backed up. That makes the air all stuffy. And-- and something like a doorway? So if it isn't completely triggered, sound can communicate and so no one would suspect--" She paused. "Did your Cyr do all that?” 

“Elysium came with a good number of magickal protections already in place,” Erdi told her. “It’s one of the reasons we chose to stay all the way out here, rather than take a house in the city." She tapped the wood floor. "Is it alright?” 

Nadine grinned. “We could have another dance party up here,” she said. “Speaking of which--” 

She gave Erdi a meaningful look. "We were talking about those dancers from Dibella's big temple in Anvil, right? Didn't you say you learned some of those moves from the Dibellan priestesses who came up from there? You asked me what I wanted. I want to see that." 

Erdi hesitated for the briefest of moments. Then she decided. 

“Sure. Let me warn you-- I never went through with the final set of oaths and dedications. So I left a postulant, not a priestess. Not a true mistress of the divine arts. But I did receive all of the learning that was available at Markarth-- let me start with what we used to call the presentation poses.” 

She kicked the felted blanket into place and clambered onto it. She paused for a long moment to center herself. Then her hands fluttered gracefully to the cord of her robe, which fell open and drifted gently to the floor. Her body curved in the remembered gestures, and she ended up her knees with her hands cupped upwards to received the blessings. Then her eyes opened. 

Nadine’s mouth was a pleasing O. 

“That’s number one,” Erdi said, after holding her gaze for a bit. Seven more in the first set.” She demonstrated the next. And, over her shoulder, said. “Doesn’t matter how stubborn they are; never had anyone not break by number five.” 

Nadine’s eyes had widened, but she hadn’t moved. 

“They’re teaching you discipline, huh?” Erdi teased. “Ysolda's told me all about this training you all get." She let her eyes close and relaxed, then began to move again. Her long limbs splayed out like the petals of an ivory flower. Her head was turned to the side, eyes still closed as she let the power of the goddess flood through her. There it was, she thought, relieved, as the warmth ran along her limbs and pooled in her belly. It had been a long time since Dibella had spoken; and so, she would listen. "Three," she murmured. 

Erdi didn't need to see it. She could feel it, from the vibration of the floor. Nadine was crawling towards her.

"Aren't you supposed to be learning patience?" Erdi said. "Sit there." She sighed rapturously--Nadine's pout was enchanting. "Just the next four," she promised. "Sit still!"

Nadine made a sound of protest, but eventually she settled back to watch, hands on her knees as she'd been directed.

"So-- I've showed you mine. That Sanctum training you mentioned--" Erdi smiled broadly, enjoying Nadine's discomfort. "I want to see it.” 

Nadine blushed. "I ... uh..." She looked around, doubtless seeking an excuse.

"You're supposed to do your training exercises every day, isn't that what you said?" Erdi demanded.

Nadine flushed rosy with embarrassment: "I don't even have any of the ... um... equipment!" she said, completely flustered. "I mean, um, I don't do it just with my own hands, there's--" She looked up, pleading. "I can't do it. It's just not possible."

Erdi reached for the covered wicker basket on the nearby shelf. She opened it and looked inside.

"Want to bet?" she challenged.


	21. And some of those people are so very nice!

Cyrelian stopped dead, squinting at her. “Uh,” he said. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

“We came in after Marcus went out to the guesthouse,” Erdi explained to him. “It seemed like you were still hard at work. I didn’t want to bother you.”

Cyr made his hazy way over to the table and sat down, holding his head in his hands. “Thanks,” he said, when the cup of kava was pushed into his hand. He drank it.

“When did you go to bed?” demanded Erdi. She immediately abandoned that line of questioning as useless. Late, obviously. “Here. You need to eat some of this.”

Cyrelian prodded at it. “What is it?” he wanted to know. 

Erdi agreed that it wasn't very appealing visually-- sort of a weird greyish blue on one end where the berries had leaked juice. Not very attractive. And--“Um? It’s kind of like a pancake, kind of like a custard? It’s some Breton thing. Nadine made it.”

“It’s a clafoutis,” said Nadine, coming in from the kitchen. “Make sure to take some of the cream for it.”

Cyr obeyed, taking a couple of spoonfuls. He took a dubious bite, and his face immediately changed. He began to fork it down, swiftly.

“We do have plenty more eggs,” Erdi hinted, making shooing motions with the towel to get Nadine to get back to cooking. “Lots more milk and berries.” 

Nadine ignored her until Erdi gave her backside a quick swat with the towel. Nadine lunged for it, and won their brief tussle, snatching the towel out of Erdi's hand. Nadine's hazel eyes sparkled laughter, and she flounced back towards the kitchen in victory, the kitchen towel now tucked into the back of her apron, where it swayed, fetchingly accentuating her rump. It was irresistible, so Erdi did not resist. She gallumphed after her. 

Nadine squealed with delight-- but Erdi almost immediately got her silenced.

"Shh!" scolded Erdi, still giggling. "Umm. Um."

"I'm trying to cook!" Nadine protested. "Go back and sit at the table."

After more protests and nuzzling, Erdi did so.

Cyrelian was paying the two of them no attention whatsoever. His jaw was working as he chewed, blissfully. Erdi slid down onto one of the polished wooden chairs-- and he did not even look up. After a moment she said to him: "How's that last chapter coming along?"

The elf lifted his gaze from his plate, startled, as though he had only just woken from a trance. “I ah-- I think I might be done,” he said. He rubbed at his scruff of beard, and then his eyes. “Not sure. Might have been just a dream.”

“Keep eating,” Erdi counseled. She pushed a couple of elk sausages onto his plate. Suspecting what she would find, she took the empty platter with her into his room to investigate. 

"Aaagh!" she cried with disgust. "Have we not talked about this?" Erdi began to stack up an entire array of dirty cups, plates, and tableware from Cyrelian's chambers, and carted the whole of the mess into the kitchen, making I-am-revolted noises the whole way. "I am NOT a maid anymore," she said, emphatically. "Clean up your own damned messes."

Her performance was all for naught. Nadine was too good a cook. Cyrelian was still eating, oblivious to aught else.

And it looked like Nadine was still cooking.

So Erdi went to go see if he was actually done with his book.

Bringing it out to the dining table, Erdi carefully set it down and paged through to the very end. "Well," she said. "That looks like an epigraph to me. Looks like you finished it. Is it going to Danica today?"

“Maybe,” Cyr said. He was scraping mournfully at the traces of whipped cream on his empty plate. “Or-- do you think Ahlam should read it over first?”

Erdi flinched. “Do you really want more critique?” she wanted to know. “Now? I thought you said you only have another week to get it to the scribe and get it final.” He got up to lean over her shoulder and had her page through it, slowly. “Cyrelian,” Erdi said, finally. “I can read, you know. Sit down and stop looming over me.”

He obeyed, still watching her face, anxious. "It's terrible," he said, with desperate conviction. "It's really awful. Isn't it?"

Erdi waved him silent. It was a manual of Restoration magick and rather technical. She could barely follow it.

“Here,” said Nadine, returning with a laden platter. “I made more whipped cream. Kava, too.”

"I think you've saved my life this morning," Cyrelian asserted, wholly enraptured. Nadine smiled at him, and he beamed with happiness in return, all of his gloom-and-doom evidently forgotten. Nadine had that effect on people, thought Erdi. She felt wonderful herself. "Is this dish difficult to make?" he wanted to know.

“No worse than griddle-cakes,” said Nadine, seating herself and tucking in. Erdi felt a glow of warmth. Nadine ate breakfast just about as enthusiastically as she did everything else. Erdi watched her fondly, until: "I'm sorry," said Nadine, looking up from her plate. "I'm being rude." She stretched her hand across the table. "Nadine Rielle."

Cyrelian startled, just a bit. His smile lit up again. "Beautiful Nadine," he said, giving the words the lilt they had in Altmeris. He clasped her fingers briefly in return. 

Damned scroungy elf, thought Erdi. All of that charm was just not fair. Cyrelian probably hadn't even slept or bathed in days, and --

"Beautiful, and delicious," Cyr murmured, to Erdi. 

Erdi jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow, hard.

Cyr gave her a quick, offended glance-- he followed rules!--before returning his full attention to his breakfast. All of them ate in rapt silence.

Not until they were down to the last few crumbs did Cyrelian speak again: “I’ve seen you around the College,” he said to Nadine. “A couple of times when I went back to see Master Colette and so on. But I don’t think we’ve ever run into each other before. You must’ve joined right after I came down here to Whiterun Hold. Aren’t you in some of Marcus’ classes?”

Nadine shook her head and explained. She was sort of in-between on the class roster, having come in with a significant amount of magickal education. She had never been in class with Marcus. 

“Though I’ve heard of him,” she added. “They call him the Archmage's pet? Oooh." She fanned herself with her napkin. "Pretty wild stories. But I never got to meet him until the party the other day. Awfully fancy, isn't he?” She looked abashed. “I am so so sorry that he broke into your room.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Cyrelian. “Pretty sure I forgot and left it unlocked. He didn’t make a mess." He winced. "Oh, sorry.” Nadine had _certainly_ made a mess.

Nadine was looking even more embarrassed, though Erdi secretly thought the rosy flush was enchanting. 

“I mean, all he did was go to sleep,” said Cyrelian. “So it was no trouble-- we just changed the bedding over. He wasn’t that drunk. And he did help us clean up the next day.”

Erdi waved him quiet. “Stop talking,” she advised. “You might summon him in here. And next thing Marcus’ll do is, he’ll eat up all our food again.” She scowled. “I’m reasonably certain that it was him that got the rest of the fish pie.” 

“Not all of it,” said Nadine, looking even more guilty. “You were asleep, and I was hungry again, and he was in the kitchen and--” Her hands clasped around the cup. “We ate up all the leftovers and had a nice chat.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Cyrelian, reaching to pour for all of them. “It was all right, but I liked the pork better. And it’d go bad before Ahtar’d get to it; he’s not going to be back for a couple of days.”

“Oh?” Erdi was miffed. “Could have left a note.”

“All right?!” said Nadine, equally miffed.

“Cyr probably ate it cold,” Erdi explained, to make peace. “Hours later.” 

“Sorry,” said Cyrelian to Nadine. “Not really fond of mudcrab. Not since we had to eat it for-- long story. The whitefish was good, though. And I liked the sauce. The sauce inside was really good.”

“Where was Ahtar going, even?” Erdi wanted to know. “Don’t tell me it’s Companions' business again. I was just talking with Farkas and he told me things were getting really slow.” She paused. “Also he apologized. And gave me some money for, you know. Cleaning, and for replacing those chair legs that got toothmarks in them. What were they _doing_ in there?”

“No idea,” said Cyrelian, levelly. “I think we’re all okay, and then he goes and does things like this.” Meaning Ahtar. Erdi sighed. Cyr frowned at them, as if realizing just now that he was sharing private business. “Are we all finished? I can get the dishes.”

“I’ve got it,” said Nadine, at once.

“Sit,” the elf commanded. “You’re a guest.” 

Cyrelian gathered up the plates and cups and disappeared into the kitchen. Erdi heard his exclamation of distress as he encountered the towering pile from his quarters. He came back to wipe down the table. Nadine tried, but he waved her back. 

“At least let me do something?” she asked. Cyrelian stopped, the scrubbing-cloth still in his hand. 

“I could look over your book for you,” Nadine offered. “I might be pretty new at the College, but I’m no stranger to scholarship.”

By the time Cyrelian had finished with the kitchen mess, swept the floor, gone to bathe, and come back from his ablutions, Nadine was three-quarters finished, little scraps of scribbled notes marking passages here and there.

Erdi, sitting beside her, looked up from the household ledger, just in time to catch the expression on Cyr's face.

“No, no,” Nadine hastened to say to Cyr. “It’s really good, I thought. Just some word choice kinds of things and a couple places I thought could use a diagram or illustration or something. Are you trying to get it published here, or on Alinor, or--” She rubbed her rounded chin. “Where do you think it’s most likely to sell?” she asked, thoughtfully.

“What?” he said, startled.

“Isn’t that the point of writing a book?” Nadine asked. "To sell it."

"To sell it?" the elf repeated, as if the thought of it were another major sin, on Alinor. From his attitude, maybe it was. "I -- ah-- I hadn't thought in terms of publication," he said, slowly. "This is just the thesis project I've been working on to secure my Adept level. I hadn't thought much further than getting it past Danica," he admitted. "She's much tougher than Colette."

He and Nadine talked about it some, whilst Erdi finished up with the accounts. She then moved to take inventory of the crockery and plates, making notes as to replacements that needed to be purchased. That party had been one wild night. And of course, assuming the best, there was Cyrelian's little party coming up. Perhaps they could rent something.

“Could you finish taking a look at the bit at the end?” she heard Cyrelian ask Nadine. “The last six chapters. That’s the part I really struggled with, I just couldn’t find a way to make it all… cohere, I guess. I mean, the theory of it all makes logical sense to me, but I’m not sure it would to anyone else.”

“Huh,” said Nadine, absorbed. And: “Could I have some more paper?”


	22. Except for when they're being a giant pain in the...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cyrelian gets called out to the Sanctum by [raunchyandpaunchy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raunchyandpaunchy) and doesn't even get an honorarium! And Nadine is mean to him!  
> [What a Pain in the Asp she's been.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18271397)
> 
> _Cues ominous-sounding Khajiiti lute music_

“What’s gotten into you?” asked Erdi, puzzled. 

She’d been rather distressed earlier, too, though I had assured her that it wasn’t any of her damned business. Ahtar, rather profanely, had said the same. I tossed my hood and healer’s satchel down onto the bench, with venom. I sat down on one of the dining-chairs, huffed annoyance, and tugged my boots off, tossing them onto the pile more vigorously than necessary.

“Are you hungry?” she persisted, getting up and starting to fuss over me. 

I growled something. 

Some things only mead can fix, so she ensured my cup was full and set a plate of seedcakes at my elbow. I could read everything I needed to from her actions: Ahtar had taken off. Again. His cloak was missing from the hook near the front door, and I could see that our room door was standing open. Meaning that my bed was empty.

“Is it me?” Marcus asked, swallowing down his last bite. “I can leave.” 

He’d been happily chomping away at the remains of an herb-stuffed roasted pike and baked potatoes, the leftovers of the comforting little supper I’d planned for myself and Ahtar earlier. Those plans had certainly gone by the wayside.

I looked up. “You’re fine,” I said, irritably. And: “You working?” By which I meant: thieving.

“No,” said Marcus, scratching at the stubble below his jaw. “Why?” 

It wasn’t that he hadn’t felt like shaving; the portion of his head visible below the dark headcloth gleamed. His fingernails were short, unadorned, a little bit ragged, and dirty. He looked every bit the scrappy little street-fighter that he is. Amongst so many other things.

“Never mind,” I sighed.

“You’re pouting,” observed Marcus, with what he thinks to be secret delight.

“It’s your damned girlfriend,” I said, nastily. “She’s presuming.”

Marcus said: “I don’t have a girlfriend. Not currently.” He helped himself to one of my seedcakes and began to crunch away, blithely. He looked up at Erdi, and spoke with a spray of crumbs. “Yours?”

Erdi quirked a brow, via which she disclaimed responsibility for the wayward behavior of any of her bedmates-- past, present, or future. “I’m going up to my room now,” she announced. “See you in the morning. We can talk then," she said to me. "Assuming that you feel like being civil.” She went up the stair-ladder and her door banged shut.

Marcus leaned forward: “What happened over there?” he asked.

I shook my head. “It’s ridiculous,” I said. “It’s just... “ my fingers tapped at the table. 

I was going to regret this in the morning, I knew. Marcus would never let it go. Still. It was eating at me.

“Do you think I’m boring?” I asked him, plaintively.

“Sure wasn’t boring earlier,” Marcus said, moving his shoulders and hands to indicate wild chaos. “What did you say to my uncle, anyways? I was all the way out in the guesthouse and I could hear him. Was in the middle of putting together all those notes from Nchuand-Zel and I lost my place. He sounded pretty pissed off.”

“Oh, he was,” I said, glumly. “First time he’s been home in three days and those idiot friends of his have to call me out there because one of them managed to fall out of bed the wrong way.” I drank my mead and brooded. “I wasn’t very happy about it. I might have said a few things he took the wrong way.” The knock on the door had, needless to say, come at a bad moment. And the incident I’d responded to had proved to be in no wise an emergency. It could have waited till morning.

“Ahtar’ll be fine,” counseled Marcus. “He stomped around for awhile and then decided to go up with Farkas and Skjor. They were going up to the plains tonight to check on that bandit den the Companions found last week. He’ll be back late tomorrow or early next-day.” 

Marcus regarded me, seriously. “You don’t really care for Master Drevis, do you?”

“I do not,” I said, evenly. “He seems a bit off. I feel like he’s always looking at me in an odd sort of way.”

Drevis Neloran, who had also weathered my brief spate of temper, was unfortunately likely to become my next one-on-one instructor. Master Tolfdir would be on sabbatical this coming term, so no Alteration. Our current Destruction Master would be unavailable to tutor me thanks to our shared history; and I decline to study Enchanting. That left only Illusion or Conjuration as possible fields of study-- and Conjuration Mastery would mean going to Morthal or Solstheim. Terrible places. Not even worth considering.

I was seriously re-thinking my future arrangements. Maybe being sent back a term wouldn't be so bad. Or maybe... gods help me... maybe as a stopgap Mirabelle Ervin would assign me to study Conjuration with Savos Aren. 

I took another drink. After that incident with the self-proclaimed priestesses of Dibella at the Thalmor Embassy party, my reputation has been tarnished enough. On the other hand, at least Savos knows all of Morrowind's party spots. What's the use of Conjuration magick, he allegedly says, if you can't take a little trip via portals to enjoy yourself? Or to bring in dancing girls, or Khajiiti acrobats. Or well-equipped and conveniently-lubricated dremora. What's the point of being more than two hundred years old if you can't enjoy yourself? All of this being per Marcus, of course.

But did I want to be one of _those_ mages? A sex mage? I frowned. No. I did not.

Marcus had left me to my thoughts. 

After a few minutes, he said, of Master Drevis: “Glad it’s not just me,” he said, with his mouth full. And then: "You know, if you'd quit treating the College as your own personal hunting preserve, you'd have better luck finding an instructor who isn't, you know--"

Compromised. Conflicted out. 

"You hush," I said, irritated, and drank more mead. Maybe I would go back to Winterhold early, at that. Faralda would certainly be welcoming and even though she couldn't officially tutor me, there was no reason why I couldn't be learning... she has some remarkable uses for Shock runes. I sighed.

A couple of minutes went by. I got up to get myself a refill from the small keg and pulled one for Marcus, who thanked me by eating the rest of my seedcakes and dabbing up the crumbs on my plate with his finger. 

“So who was it that was dumb enough to get hurt?” Marcus wanted to know. 

I considered the terms of my healer’s oath, and concluded that none of it applied to to middle-of-the-evening stupidity that had put paid to my own plans. I was still ticked off. Still: “I can’t tell you that,” I said. “You know that.”

“You can tell me,” said Marcus. “Oorrrrrr I can go find out.” He smiled at me, displaying his teeth, all roguish charm. "Your choice."

I reflected upon what had happened the last time Marcus had wanted to find out something on his own. 

“I will find out,” Marcus warned me. Again, that raffish, boyish grin. “You know I will. By any means--” Necessary.

I didn’t really think my nerves were up to much more.

“Brynjolf,” I said, crossly. “But it was Nadine-- of all people!-- who got snitty with me. I don’t know why. She’d even had time to get dressed. All the poor man himself did was lie there and cry.” I took another disgruntled swig. “At least he thanked me, afterwards. No one else bothered.”

Marcus hadn’t said anything. I glanced over. He was laughing, soundlessly, eyes crinkled shut, and his sides heaving. He tried to say something, but ended up having to press his hands against the table for support. 

“So, uh--" He gasped for breath: "What were they trying to do?”

“They were making love in some kind of unusual position,” I said, still annoyed. “Brynjolf said he was trying to lift her up-- upside down!--so that they could do this thing called ‘the Asp.’ Why on Nirn they didn't use some of the Sanctum's special furniture, I don’t know. They do have a sling," I said, primly. "I asked."

“Ass?” Marcus demanded, in a half-strangled voice.

I was perplexed for a moment. Then: "Asp," I said, more crisply.

"A what now?" he demanded, hoarsely.

"An asp. You know, like a snake?" An unprofessional snigger escaped me. "It surely bit him." 

"Asssssppp," said Marcus. This time the support of the table was not sufficient; Marcus slid bonelessly down off his chair to convulse on the floor. 

I allowed it _was_ funny. 

Eventually Marcus subsided, and looked up at me from under his head-scarf, green eyes lambent with happy malice. “I’m gonna remember this forever,” Marcus promised. His mouth flattened itself into a semblance of a snake’s: “Sssssss. Ssssss.” He sighed, dreamily. “I can’t wait to get back to Riften,” he said, breaking into evil little chuckles. “I’m gonna tell Dirge. I'm gonna tell everybody. Ssss. Ssss. Everywhere Bryn goes. Ssss."

“I saw the book it all came out of,” I told him. “ _Belly Magic and Other Lessons from the Barons of Move Like This._ " I rolled my eyes, and said, with emphasis: "Dunmer.” 

“Savos has that book,” Marcus said. “He kind of, haha, was discouraging about it. Said it’s ah, supposed to be allegorical? Also says it dates back from the time of levitation magick being legal. Guess it needed to be, haha… huh.” He paused. “D’you think that’s why they made levitation magick illegal? Maybe...ehh...hehe... too many people kept spraining their backs.” Still lying on the floor, he began to theorize about some of the poses in the book-- with gestures--fighting laughter and losing, until he was too overcome to go on.

“I can’t even imagine the variety of ways people would get themselves stuck were levitation legalized,” I said, forbiddingly. “And where. Remember those Sanguine cultists? Imagine what a disaster they'd make of the temple statutes. I bet Danica would have to get herself a ladder. And a winch.” I frowned. "I guess that the Sanctum would have to get even more fancy equipment. Not that it would matter. Adrienne might make it, but nobody would remember to use it."

Forget about becoming a mere sex mage; I would also have to become a contortionist. That sounded even less appealing.

Marcus had collapsed again. I watched him writhe about. At least somebody was going to have fun rolling around on the floor tonight in my company, sigh, although this was certainly not what I had intended. 

_Boring sod_ , Nadine had said. Perhaps she was right.

“You never answered my question,” I said, moodily.

“Hey,” Marcus said, suddenly, sitting upright. “I’m bored."

I sighed in sympathy. "Yeah. I've got nothing to do."

"It’s still pretty early. You want to go out?”

“There’s a chance I might be needed for rounds in the morning,” I said. “It’s not my usual rotation, but Danica's in Rorikstead and Ahlam said she might need me to help fill in, and I really should re-stock the--” I stopped myself. It was a beautiful spring night, moons-high and not too cold. 

You know what? To Oblivion with all of that.

“Heard there’s Bosmeri music at the Huntsman tonight,” tempted Marcus. “And if nothing else, the Khajiit are camped outside of town. Ri’saad’s crew. They’ll have something going.”

I stood up. "Give me five minutes and meet me out front," I said. "I want to change out of these clothes and grab my lute."

We got halfway down the lane before I realized we'd forgotten to clear up the dishes on the table. I left the mess to Erdi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hm?
> 
> Oh, why are they gonna be picking on poor Brynjolf, who didn't do anything wrong? Um? I dunno... wait. It's because who could be mean to Nadine?


	23. What do you mean we're equally to blame?

“Yes, of course,” I said soothingly, rubbing at my left eye. Would this headache never fade? We had gone well beyond the scope of any mundane sort of hangover and I was beginning to suspect Daedric involvement. I stifled a sour belch. “Of course I’m willing to forgive you,” I said. 

So long as you cook, I added to myself, silently. 

But I was becoming less grouchy about it. The smells wafting from the kitchen were too tempting for that, and I knew that good food would settle me.

The anxious little Breton face eased a fraction. “I’m sorry,” said Nadine, again. “I keep on being such a bother.” She brushed a lock of dark hair out of her face.

“It’s fine,” I said again to her. Nadine is such a beautifully edible comestible herself; I thought. Such a pity. Erdi gets exceedingly annoyed at what she terms poaching.

“Any news from town?” Erdi called.

“Not really,” said Nadine. “Everyone’s still going on and on about what happened to the Talos statue.” Her brows raised: "They said it was REALLY filthy. Heimskr's off complaining to the jarl."

I finished ladling a substantial dishful of soothing chicken-and-dumplings for myself and spread half a loaf with sweet butter. And soft goat cheese. And, oh, it was a good day. We had comb honey. I took a large chunk of it.

“Hey! Where’re you going with that plate?” demanded Erdi, coming in. “Didn’t we talk about this? We’re going to have vermin everywhere if you don’t--”

“Weren’t you up there night?” Nadine asked me, curiously. “Whiterun, I mean. I thought I saw you coming out of the Bannered Mare with Marcus and Vilkas.” She looked at Erdi. “The three of them were laughing like lunatics.”

“I’m going downstairs to work,” I lied. 

Downstairs, I could eat my lunch in peace. And nap in the dim, with a damp rag over my face. And it would probably be better if I got out of sight before either of them came up with more questions. I promised Erdi on my word of honor that I would bring all of my dishes up, before I forgot. I apologized for leaving such a mess, last night.

It was all Marcus’ fault, of course. It was his idea. Who would have thought that people would get so overwrought about it? It was merely suggestive. It was NOT obscene.

And we did set it back to rights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehe-- this chapter redrafted to suit the r/fanfiction prompt for June 1: Sour. Perhaps your character has bitten into something that doesn't taste so good, or the actions of another character have left a sour taste in their mouth.


	24. Don't be sssilly--

"For the last time, s'wit-- it was _not me_. I had nothing to do with it!"

"So we'll be thinking there's another Illusion mage that happens to be about Whiterun-town then?" Brynolf folded his arms, his redhead's complexion flushed nearly maroon. He was shouting. "Who happens to know my private business? That so, Master Neloran?"

Adrienne had emerged from the small office at the sound of all of the commotion. "Drevis," she commanded, in that cool commanding voice of hers. "Go to the bench. Brynjolf. Breakfast nook. Now."

Nonplussed, Ahtar stepped back, just in time to get out of the way of the severely irritated thief who stalked by him with a stiff-legged spraddle-legged gait, still clutching a bottle of brandy. He reeked of it.

"I --ah-- I guess I missed something by bein' out of town," Ahtar said to Nazir, settling himself down on the end of the bench.

"Oh, you did," said Drevis Neloran, glumly, who had taken the nearby chair. "Someone, can't think who, transmuted the statute of Talos into the likeness of someone in Thieves Guild armor-- having a romantic interlude with the snake curled at its feet." He turned his mournful red gaze up towards Ahtar. "It certainly wasn't myself," he said. "Though I'm beginning to wish I had been the one to think of it."

Nazir said:"You see? Our good Dunmer here's never even considered such aspirations."

Ahtar blinked. "What now?" he hazarded.

"It was a high-level Illusion spell that temporarily altered the appearance of the statute," said the Dunmer mage, wearily. "It lasted from before dawn to around noon, which is just about the time they finally convinced the jarl to go down to the Wind District to take a look at it."

"Everyone went down to the Wind District to take a look at it," said Nazir. He took another drink of tea. "Priest threw quite a hissy fit. I don't think that Heimskr has ever been..." He purred, happily. "Mmhmm. Mm. Madder." 

"Certainly he's never been a brighter shade of purple," observed Drevis, sourly. "Can't say I'm thrilled about being blamed for something that I've never--" He scowled. "And Brynjolf needs to stop! I have nothing whatsoever to do with whoever is making those damnable noises at him." He scowled at Nazir. "And you're not helping."

"I don't know why Brynjolf's so irate," said Nazir. "He has _so_ much in common with a snake." He smirked. "Same chance he'll be able to... hold his liquor. And we've just been told: we shouldn't be trying to pull his leg."

"What're we supposed to be doing here?" prompted Ahtar, impatient. The two of them seemed to be in no hurry to attend to him, and he wanted to get down to business.

"Oh, I don't know," said Nazir, lazily. "I imagine I'm supposed to be cautioning Neloran here for something he didn't do." He yawned. "I guess they think Drevis can still...hmm. Get around me." He made squeezing, constrictor-like movements with his arms.

The Dunmer made a small noise of pain.

"See?" said Nazir, stretching to put his cup back up on the workbench. "None of my people dare speak with forked tongue."

"You shouldn't be telling jokes about it," said Drevis Neloran.

"Why? Will it come back to bite me?" smirked Nazir.

"I think it might," warned Drevis. "When's the last time you saw Adrianne in that kind of mood? I think we're all in for it now."

"Hey," said Ahtar, to the two of them. "I'd kinda like to get home today before it gets late, if you don't mind. Got some stuff going on. So ah-- can we maybe get started?" He frowned, looking over the bench and its equipment. "Where's that thing we talked about you wanted to try. Oh, there it is."

Nazir had been shuffling his tools around on the work bench. "Ah," he said, holding the implement aloft. He smiled at Ahtar: "Fang you."

Drevis made another small, weak noise, as if he were dying.

"If it was a snake, it would've bit me," added Nazir.

"Yeah?" snapped Ahtar. "Instead of making stupid fucking jokes, how 'bout we get to it. I got places to be, and now it sounds like we're gonna have to hold a damned meeting." 

He bumped rudely past Nazir to get to the side of the bench where the shelves were, already loosening his lacings.

Nazir stepped back, declining to take offense. "See?" he said to Drevis. "He knows it's time he gettssss naked."

Ahtar whipped around to glare at him: "Will you fucking stop?! It isn't fucking funny!"

Nazir stood perfectly still for a long moment, and then he said, coldly: "I'll just be getting the soma-salve." He paused. "You're going to be needing rather a lot of it."

"Fool," hissed Drevis, as soon as Nazir was out of earshot. "Don't cut him off like that when he's making his little jokes. Now he's going to--"

Ahtar finished folding his clothes away and turned to regard the Dunmer, calmly: "Think by now I don't know what I'm about?"

"It's your arse," muttered the Dunmer.

\--

"Okay," said Ahtar. He shifted his weight, wincing, and rubbed at his left buttock, where the salve wasn't doing enough. He was going to have to grab a healing potion on the way out, or hear about it from the elf, forever. "Know it ain't none of my business but--"

"This is what you did," said Astrid, musingly.

"Yeah, sorting out stupid shit was more than half my job," said Ahtar, congenially. "Usually it was guardsmen and the Bards drunk off their asses, but we'd get all kinds. So. What happened while I was gone?"

"I woke up before dawn to a great deal of commotion," said Adrianne. "And Heimskr, at the top of his lungs--"

"More so than usual," said Ulfberth, folding his arms. "Man brays like a donkey."

"And so we went up to the Gildergreen plaza, to find that the Talos statute, hmm."

"Had a new face on it, and a new kind of armor," said Ulfberth. "Pretty distinctive armor." His teeth glinted briefly as he grinned. "Assuming you know who the Thieves' Guild are."

"Also the serpent at its base had come uncoiled, and was now wrapped around the statute in a--"

"Loving embraaaaaccce," suggested Ulfberth, still chuckling, drawing the word out into a hiss.

Adrianne fixed him with a cold stare.

"Sorry," he said, and coughed to stifle himself. 

"This is very serious," she said, severely. "A breach of this sort is--"

"Hey," said Ahtar, "don't want to interrupt, but was the face on the statute recognizable as Brynjolf?" He shifted his weight back and forth a bit, trying to loosen his muscles. Wasn't any tension left in his body- but his left thigh was threatening to cramp up. The welts stung something fierce.

"No, not really," said Adrienne, still frowning. "Not to any outsider, for sure. Terrible workmanship. But it was pretty plainly meant to be him."

Brynolf started in again, and Astrid raised her hand for silence.

"I don't get it," said Ahtar. "What's making you all so upset? What in Oblivion's this place got to do with somebody'n a statute fuckin' a snake?"

There was a great deal of commotion as everyone tried to explain at once. Finally Astrid got them under control.

"Okay," said Ahtar. "Takes me a bit, but I'm pretty sure I follow now. He--" pointing at Brynjolf, whose angry face was still clenched taut-- "Got hurt doing this Asp thing. Had to get a healer brought in. Nobody ought to know about it but us. Next thing we know, the Talos statue's decorated up to look like Brynjolf? Can we go look at it?"

"No," Brynjolf said, grimly. "Real piece of work. But when the illusion faded the statue went back to normal." He glared at Drevis Neloran. "And the only wizard around here capable of Illusion magick of that magnitude is--"

Nazir's hand clasped around Ahtar's arm, in unnecessary warning. "Possibly another," he murmured.

Ahtar jerked away. He hadn't needed the hint.

"No," said Ahtar, with finality. "No, it ain't Drevis. He don't got that kind of imagination." This won him a look from the Dunmer mage, but he went on: "Plus, you think Drevis is some kid, going to be climbing up on a statute in the middle of the night?" Ahtar snorted. "You all don't have anything to worry about, it's not one of your own. I got it. I'll take care of it for you. Won't happen again."

"You think I don't know shit when I've scraped it off my boot?" growled Brynjolf. "It's him. I know it's him, just look at him smirking over there..." He glared at Drevis. Brynjolf'd have seemed much more fierce if he hadn't been holding onto one of the ceiling posts for support.

Ahtar said to him: "Think about it for a minute. This kind a thing ain't him. Who is it that we know...who _would_ do this shit?"

Brynjolf's color was coming back down, but Ahtar could see it, the Awful Realization dawning on him about just who it was that was the source of his woes: "Ahhh, fuck."

"Yeah, sorry about that. He's been stayin' with us and he must've overheard what was goin' on," said Ahtar. "So. Either you let me deal with that little shit... Or you can run home to Riften and complain to his brother. Not that Vekel's ever gonna do a damn thing."

"The situation will be handled," said Nazir, speaking up over the crowd in that beautifully unconcerned, calming voice of his. "It isn't a security breach at all. No one will suffer exposure. All shall be well. The persons to blame will be... cautioned. Severely."

\--

"That idiot elf of mine and my stupid fucking nephew," muttered Ahtar, but not too loudly, getting his belongings back together. "Bet I can guess whose idea it was. Tan his fucking hide."

"Far be it from me to offer suggestions where they aren't wanted," said Nazir. "But--"

Ahtar listened, closely. "Yeah," he said, roughly. "That'll do."

Ahtar nearly ran into Nadine on his way out of the main hall. "Sorry," he said, moving past. "Got to go spank a brat."

"What did I miss?" asked Nadine, puzzled. And: "Is that a euphemism? What's Nazir got you doing?"

"Nadine," said Adrianne, sternly. "Come here, please." 

Ahtar hesitated for the barest second at the threat implicit in that voice, but then kept going. 

Didn't sound like his problem, and he had enough trouble as it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hah! This chapter was already perfectly suited for r/fanfiction's June 2 prompt: 
> 
> Serpent. Has your character encountered a snake? Or perhaps they're as vindictive and cunning as one? Are they shedding their old skin and becoming a new person, or have they somehow transformed into a reptile?
> 
> Hissss.
> 
> Sss.


	25. We would never, ever do such things--

"Lookin' for a smirky little bitch with stupid fuckin' boots on," said Ahtar. "The one who can smell out magicka and wheedle all kinds of fucked up spells outa the Archmage. Who the fuck you think?"

I straightened up from the flower bed and tossed a few more weeds into the bucket. "What did Marcus do this time? Never mind." I squinted up at Ahtar, who was between me and the afternoon sun. "What happened to your leg?" I asked, curious. "You're standing funny."

He grumbled something about not wanting me to deal with it, but I waved him silent.

"None of that," I said. "Trousers off. Now."

Ignoring his complaint, I went over and washed my hands at the bucket near the well, taking care to give them an extra rinse.

"All right, let's see what you did this time," I said. "Ooh. What WAS that?"

"Rattan cane," he said, shortly. "He was supposed to use the-- ahh!-- but I pissed him off. Aaagh! Do you fuckin' gotta touch it like that?"

"Hurt?" I asked, tracing the lines of the swollen welts, trying to determine whether we were dealing with something deeper than skin damage.

"Yeah it hurts-- your hands're like ice and my damned ass is on fire! Ow!" A green-gold shimmer rose and then dissipated as I took care of the underlying bruises.

"Hey," he said, mildly. "Thought we agreed you wouldn't heal this stuff unless--"

"Mhm. A couple spots there weren't too good," I said. "Probably would've stiffened up pretty good. Didn't you want to be able to run tomorrow?" I grinned, maliciously. "I left the welts alone," I said, resisting the urge to swat him there. "So you have fun with that."

"Jackass," he muttered, getting back into his clothes, and then: "Hey. We gotta talk."

I pointed to the bench which circled the nearby tree trunk. "Have a seat."

"Yeah. Think I'm gonna stand. Anyways. Who was it said it was okay you go down to the Sanctum, again? Because they're all half-crazy down there right now, complaining about trust and confidentiality and all this shit."

I paused: "You were there," I reproved. "Drevis was all in a lather. I didn't think it was all that big a deal, but you insisted I pack up and go immediately." I leaned forward and ripped out another weed. "It could have waited ten more minutes," I said, spitefully. "I would've been in a much better mood."

"Ha. You woulda been sound asleep," Ahtar said. He scowled. "Fuck. It was Drevis, wasn't it?" He slapped his thighs in disgust. "Agh. It is his fault. Sorta. Our fault."

"What's going on?" I asked.

As Ahtar explained, my heart sank. My moment of weakness in confiding to Marcus... and then in, Auriel help me, tagging along with him. Followed closely by the absolute, unmitigated stupidity of our... um, _my_... transfiguration of the Talos statute. Why hadn't I chosen some--any-- other subject?

"Adrianne's kind of pissed off," said Ahtar. "Think she might be wanting Brynjolf to talk to Danica about it. Something about a healer's oath?"

He said this just as I had been standing up, and all of the blood went from my head in a great rush. I faltered. Ahtar tried to steady me, and I grabbed at him, right over one of the welts. He actually yelped, and I nearly fell, but we staggered around for a moment or so until I got my balance.

"Calm down," he advised, pulling me closer into the embrace, patting at me. "I know whose fuckin' fault this is." He growled. "Marcus."

It's always Marcus. Marcus is always the instigator. Not that the truth of this would excuse any of my own conduct. 

If Danica Purespring came to know of even the merest whisper of this, she would be well within her rights to kick me out of my fellowship on the spot. I stood still, running through all the possible scenarios in my head. Because if she did, and the Thalmor came to know of it, and if questions started to be asked about just how it was that any of this had happened...

I wondered, dully, how far I could get if I started running, right now.

"Hey," Ahtar was saying. "Hey. I got this. Stop fucking whimpering, okay? Talk to Brynjolf, apologize to the man, get that squared. All we got to do. That and deal with Marcus."

"And Ulfberth and Adrianne."

"Fuck. I forgot. Yeah, that too."

"This could be it for me," I whispered to him, and detailed my line of thought. "I'll actually have to run. For good. The Thalmor will never believe me when I say that I was just drunk; they're going to be asking all sorts of questions..."

Ahtar listened closely.

"Just due to my stupidity, we could lose everything," I finished.

"Not everything," Ahtar said, and kissed me. 

His hands clamped down on my upper arms, tight. After several heated moments he surfaced for air, and said: "Had nothing but this, before. We still got this."

I grabbed at the back of Ahtar's head to force him back to work, but after a couple of seconds he pulled away with a little gasp: "We do still got this, right?"

I could hear the keening strain in his voice. I ran my hands down his thick shoulders to the small of his back, soothing him, feeling all of my own anxiety over him melt like snow in the sun. "We do," I assured him, softly. Ahtar sighed deeply and then we went back to it, letting the flames lick up between us.

And then: "Nnnggh!" as his whole body flinched.

"Oh, sorry!" My lips curved upwards, unbidden, as I strove to keep the amusement out of my voice. "Forgot," I lied, and removed my hands back to his waist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weeelll, this is a little tortured (snort), but here we are for r/fanfiction's June 3 prompt: Fire. Flames of passion or unbridled fury, a means of destruction or a way to keep warm. What's the fire in your story like?


	26. -- hold on. I think we're dealing with an emergency.

Of course, the guesthouse was cleared out and empty, but for a silver-frogged coat with some unfortunate water-stains, and a truly lovely pair of silver-chased heeled boots. Not, of course, that I'd ever consider such an item of apparel, now that I'd heard Ahtar's snort of derision. 

"None a his books and papers are here," Ahtar reported. "Think Marcus went to Solitude?"

"It's possible," I said, still trying to will myself to come down from panic. I tried the briefest of magickal scans on the room: nothing out of the ordinary. "He could have posted all of that up to Auryen, though," I pointed out. "So I wouldn't rely on him being all that encumbered. Look, the only things left are-- uh--"

"Yeah," said Ahtar, dropping a pile of folded things back into the chest, and closing it. "Girl clothes which he left a note for Erdi to sell." He pointed to the rack and the nearby shelf. "Weapons are gone. Pack's gone."

He squinted at me: "What did he have on, the other night?"

"Dull colors," I said. "Linen shirt, lightweight wool jerkin. Can't recall pants or shoes. Nothing remarkable. I think he shaved his head again, though-- he had a headcloth on."

Ahtar grunted, to acknowledge that he understood: Marcus changes phases like the moons. If Marcus were Khajiit, he would bound from Alfiq to Senche-raht as the whimsy took him. As it is, we have a hard time keeping up.

Marcus generally wears his hair down in one ridiculously-curly forelock and shaves the rest to stubble; if he doesn't, over time he starts to look as if a bramble-bush is consuming his head. But sometimes, when he reverts to masculine attire, he cuts it off, or ties it up into a sewn braid which he covers with cap or headcloth. It was entirely possible that he could have elected to shave away his most distinctive feature.

"Kyne," swore Ahtar. "Not going to catch up to him any time soon." And that was true. If Marcus had made it up to Winterhold, he might be sampling the demimonde delights of Morrowind by now, assuming an indulgent Archmage. He could be anywhere. He might've decided to paste on scales and go to Black Marsh. Oh my gods, he could have gone to Riften to make good on his threat to get Delvin Mallory in on his idea of a joke. I was cold all through, now. I tried to put it out of my mind.

"I'm sorry," I said, and sighed, my head in my hands. "I should have seen it coming."

"Oh, we're the ones gonna be sorry," Ahtar predicted, glumly. "Only ones Brynjolf's got to be angry with, is us."

\-----

We could hear her before we saw her; a dark-haired girl, moving at a fast lope and sobbing. The end of her thick braid danced as she dodged around our open gate and made her way up to the house, slamming the door behind her.

"Huh," said Ahtar. "Guess Erdi can sort that out."

"Erdi isn't home," I said.

Ahtar groaned and pushed himself up from where he'd been leaning against the wall. "Go ahead and get all a this put up," he said, surveying the garden equipment I'd left in the yard. "See if I can calm Nadine down before you come in." He glanced back over his shoulder at me. "She ain't gonna be happy with you," he predicted.

No, no she would not be. If Nadine had a favorite at the Sanctum, it was Brynjolf.

I dug up the last stubborn thorn-leaf and threw the rest of the garden detritus into the bucket to carry it to the midden. I was in no rush to pick up my tools and rack them away. The back entrance to my own personal quarters has a potting-shelf and a drying-rack for alchemical herbs, as well as shelf-space for the smaller tools-- but this necessitates putting the tools up clean and and dry, since it is in the house. I took the weeding-fork and pressed it deep into our sand-pile, rubbing at the small grains to crumble the mud away. I took my time. Because I did not want to make confession to Nadine, I was dragging my feet like a child.

Grow the hell up, Ahtar would say; I could hear him in my head. Stop tryin' to kick grass over it like it's a turd you wanna pretend ain't there, because that never fuckin' works. Just get shit set right.

This wasn't some mere school prank I could disavow, I thought grimly. I had done wrong. Well, the rest of the Sanctum would have to be advised soon enough. I might as well start with Nadine. 

I brushed off my gloves, and pressed them flat together to hang them from their little little leather loops from the peg. Beyond me, my bedroom door was open to the main room; I could hear Ahtar and Nadine talking. She was no longer crying. It was time.

\-----

Nadine, it seemed, had worn herself out on emotional explosions for one day. She sat and stared at me, mouth open. "Why would you ever do that?" she questioned.

"Have you ever been really drunk. Like, so intoxicated that you felt like you could see the whole universe and all of its inner workings, at a glance?" I said.

"I have, she acknowledged, "But--"

"You know how your mage-sight gets all funny and really vivid, right?

She nodded.

"So Vilkas and Marcus and I were sitting up top of Jorrvaskr," I said. "I don't know what they had been drinking, but I had a lot of brandy. For some reason the two of them wanted to howl at the moons and Marcus said it was closer and the moons could hear better if we climbed up really high."

Ahtar grumbled something about Marcus, the Companion who should have known better, and gross disrespect of a sacred building: "Likes to climb up shit," was his only explanation, in regards to Marcus. "Cyr usually ain't that dumb."

"Anyway, I went up over the ridge of Jorrvaskr-- the ship's old keel-- to take in the sight of Whiterun down below--" I poured a little tisane out to check; it had steeped enough. I poured for us. "And there I was, staring down at that damned shrine." I drank, and ate a hardtack biscuit. Nadine was keeping quiet, still listening. "And Vilkas comes up beside me, and I said: "How come that city-murdering asshole gets to be the king of all your gods? What happened to Akatosh, the lord of Time?"

Nadine shrugged. It was a fair point. 

"Well, then Vilkas just went off. You know how he is, anything to do with history, and he got to talking about this theory that he read about, that this upstart Talos stole away the pre-eminence that rightly went to Akatosh. And then Marcus started giggling about Tiber Septim being a thief of gods, or godhood, or whatever, and--"

I drank again. "All I could think of was: Thieves Guild. And it kind of went on from there."

"Where did the snake come in?" Nadine said, reproachfully.

"Umm. Wellll," I hedged. "As long as we were making the statue bigger, and making it look like a thief..."

Nadine was giving me a look.

"Fine!" I said, exasperated. "I just couldn't get it out of my head, all right?" And: "I was really, really drunk... Marcus had this tree sap stuff..." I mumbled. "...thought it was funny. Really drunk."

"You ain't gonna get a better answer," said Ahtar to Nadine, after a few more minutes of her drilling me about it, and after a little while she conceded. I didn't really know Brynjolf. I certainly didn't have anything against him. Neither Marcus nor Ahtar cared for the man much, but that was no surprise, given the fact that neither of them had any time for the Thieves' Guild or Marcus' brother Vekel. Other than picking Marcus up by the scruff of his neck and hauling him back to the Ragged Flagon a time or two, Brynjolf hadn't really had much to do with Marcus, either. (And this by no means was an exclusive sort of relationship; it was difficult for me to think of anyone who hadn't shooed a drunken Marcus on home.)

"So-- how do you think we should handle this?" I asked. "Preference being, someplace further away from Whiterun." 

"Agreed," said Ahtar, at once. "I dunno the man much, but Vex says he's pretty damn lazy."

Nadine made a noise somewhere between a snort and a sniffle. She clutched her cup of tisane in both hands, and drank some more.

"That fair?" asked Ahtar, amused.

"Fair," husked Nadine. She drank again, and cleared her throat. "Brynjolf's kind of like a big cat, either he's doing something or he's doing nothing. Nothing by halves."

"So I doubt he's gonna go in and play up to Danica if he don't have the Temple of Kynareth staring him right in the face." Ahtar sliced the rest of the loaf and pushed it towards her, together with the honey. I passed over the Eidar cheese. Nadine drizzled her piece liberally with honey.

"He hold a grudge, much?" I asked.

"I hope not," said Nadine. "This is all my fault, I shouldn't have demanded that Drevis go and bring you down there right away. And been so rude about it." She looked at her small hands. "But I was really worried about Brynjolf-- he said his feet felt funny, and like he'd been riding a horse too much." She put the cheese in her mouth and scrubbed at her face with the napkin. "He was complaining about it again this morning but he wouldn't go up there."

"By no means is my abominable behavior your fault--" 

I registered what she'd just said: "Wait." I frowned. "He didn't report all this to me," I said more sharply. "In fact, he said--" 

I mentally reviewed my conversation with Brynjolf. It was clear to me now that when I'd questioned him, he'd been trying to demonstrate bravado for Nadine. Dammit! I should have been more persistent and done a more thorough check. 

"And he has not gone to see Danica, like I told him to do?"

Nadine shook her head, puzzled. "No," she said. "He said it wasn't hurting as bad." She winced a little. "Sure is walking funny though. Says he can't really feel his feet all that good. His legs feel weird."

"Where is he, right now?" I said, standing up. "Is he at the Sanctum? I need to see him."

"Cyrelian," she said. "You can't just barge in down there and make demands. Not after what happened. Adrianne will--"

I had already gone for my satchel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update's r/fanfiction prompt comes from June 4: Growth. Something - or someone - in your character's life is bigger than it used to be. Perhaps it's your character themselves. Grow up, Cyr!


	27. --so let's deal with that--

"-- can't come in here," the Bosmer was saying, mulishly.

He was tiny, but he might've been a brick wall for all that I could get through him. I glared down at him, greatly disliking his attitude. Bosmer are supposed to be good members of the Dominion all--but even we have given up on tracking those who fled to reside in Cyrodiil or High Rock or Skyrim-- much less worrying about re-education or reconciliation. This one even had a ring that swayed temptingly from the crest of his ear-- but obviously he was one of the more hostile sorts.

"Move," I directed, less pleasantly.

"This is a private club, and you're not a member--"

I tried one last time, straining to speak patiently: "Look, I'm a healer. I have no interest in this place. I was here just last night to see to someone's medical needs, and now I need to--"

"You can't come in here," he insisted, again.

"Watch me," I advised. Rather than shove this Bosmer aside, I put my shoulder to the door, ramming into it. It slammed open into the wall behind it with a loud crash, and my nemesis the door warden gave way-- it was fall back or fall down. A small crowd had gathered.

"Brynjolf. He's here, yes?" I demanded. "Take me to him. At once."

I had a bad turn for a moment, when I was led past a small cage with shackles in it; but thankfully we traversed the entire huge room and ended up at what looked like a small dining alcove on the very far side, close to where a propped-open door was letting in daylight. The red-headed thief was sitting on the built-in bench, one of his legs propped up, with a set expression on his face. There were a number of playing cards in front of him, and an open bottle of brandy. He gazed up at me, incurious-- then moodily flicked another one over. Prince of Cups.

A hand closed over my shoulder: Ahtar had caught up to me. "Hey," he said. "We can't be havin' this. I need to go find Adrianne, and ask the right permissions, and--"

I shook him off: "Working."

"Look, it's gonna be worse for you if you--" His concern was touching, but I had no time for this.

"Do what you need to do," I said to Ahtar, tersely. Go on, I thought. Rat me out. He made an exasperated noise, but he didn't leave. Instead he took care of the business of shooing the onlookers away from us.

I turned to Brynjolf: "Pretty drunk, are we? Back hurting again? Gait sort of off?"

"Don't know what gave you that impression, lad," he said. "Think I might have thrown my ankle out as well, or my knee--"

"Balance is funny?" I asked. "Odd pains? Pins and needles?"

He nodded. 

I asked some few rather more intrusive questions. He hedged, but I persisted. I did not like the answers that I got.

I leaned down and whispered to explain. His eyes widened.

"So, unless you want to be known as Brynjolf the Boneless," I said, ruthlessly--

"Does that mean what I think it does?" gasped Nadine, thoroughly out of breath from her run. She'd overheard.

"Mmhm," I said. "Better let me take have a closer look."

\----

Ahtar painstakingly got Brynjolf up onto his feet and worked on getting him undressed. Nadine came over up to hold onto Brynjolf and comfort him. Some of the other denizens of the place drifted up to observe these proceedings.

I left Ahtar to explain all of this, whilst I dug around in my pack: "I don't fuckin' know," Ahtar was saying. "We was talking to Nadine, then he acted like he got a bee up his robes and ran down here--"

"Beee....fore you could catch him?" suggested Nazir, and smirked. 

"That is absolutely the last time I am going to allow you to explain anything at all," I said to Ahtar, crossly. I began to detail my needs. Nazir wanted to argue about how his special table was better, shudder, but: "Is it fixed to the wall?" I asked. "What happens if we need better light?" 

The two of them, grumbling, went to fetch the Sanctum's large trestle-table, and carry it over towards us.

Brynjolf stood by nervously, stripped down to his smallclothes. Nadine was holding onto his hand with both of hers. "Let's get him up on the table," I directed. "Don't try to help," I warned Brynjolf and--"Don't jar his back!" Brynjolf isn't of great size for a Nord and the three of us plus Nadine accomplished getting him up onto it with ease. "You can have as much brandy as you like as long as you lie still," I told Brynjolf, and he asked for the bottle.

While this was being accomplished, I was sorting through my satchel, slowly at first, and then with a sort of disbelieving vigor. Where was the damned thing? When had I last packed this bag? I resorted to pulling out every single item for examination.

I looked up, to meet Nazir's gaze. "I don't suppose you have such a thing as a pricker?"

Brynjolf, by now happily drunk even in the throes of pain, snickered. Nadine, who had his upper portion essentially smothered in her ample bosom, also smirked.

"An eye-gouger?" I requested. If they didn't have a pricker, what on Nirn did they use for all the jiggery pokery?

"What?! No," said Nazir, indignant as a maiden auntie. "Of course not. How horrifying."

"What kind of torture dungeon is this?" I complained, and made a few more requests for possible substitutes. 

Bah. The Thalmor maintain a much better variety of tools even in the small portable kit. Whoops, my sub voce complaints were not having a salutary effect upon my patient. Brynjolf was all tensed up. 

I rubbed at his shoulder: "Relax," I said, confidently. "This isn't going to hurt at all. You might get a little uncomfortable on that table, but that's probably going to be the extent of it, all right?" His upper back and shoulders-- I was staying away from the trouble-spot for now-- were all muscle-knots, despite the brandy. Hm. This would not do. I rubbed at the muscles of his scalp, thumbs working hard at the base of his skull. He groaned as some of the discomfort eased.

What was taking so long? 

"Could you go help find me that needle?" I requested. 

"You don't have to speak to me so sharply," said Nazir, sniffing.

"I didn't expect such a lavishly-dressed out sex club to be so threadbare," I retorted. 

Nazir grinned back at me: a challenge. "Why're you being such a prick?"

"You're the one getting snippy," I said.

At this point, heh, Ahtar made the plaintive request to wait outside, or maybe up at Honningbrew. Someplace where he couldn't hear the two of us.

I looked at where the daylight was streaming in, and realized that it was half of a double door that could easily be opened up wide enough to accommodate the table. "Where's that lead to?" I asked.

Thence followed a general discussion, at which time it was determined that Honningbrew's locked-and-walled delivery-yard would be a better spot for me to conduct an examination. More light. And it has a tall locked gate, ensuring privacy. We carried Brynjolf outside on the table, whilst he reclined upon it, regal as Emperor Thules the Gibbering on his infamous gilded palanquin.

"I want him flat on his side," I instructed. "Carefully! Stick those folded blankets under his head to keep him level." Nadine complied. Once we had him safe, she clambered up on the table to let his face come to rest against her thigh. 

"So if you botched the job the first time, mind telling me why you think I should let you take another go?" said Brynjolf, plaintively. 

I was squeezing at his feet and calves, frowning. Not good.

"That's, ah, a good question," I said, ruefully. I came up to the head of the table so that he could hear me, and pushed his hair aside. I could ease some of his discomfort as we waited. I went back to working on his scalp.

"I'm a healing mage," I said. "Not a seer. I can't see into the future. As to whether I'm competent, technically I'm still in training, and it's possible that Danica could send me back for more review after yesterday evening's work." I dug my thumbs in more deeply at outer verges of his eyebrows. Brynjolf made a startled noise, then sighed deeply as his scalp muscles relaxed. I moved to work on the tight cords of his neck, adding the barest tracer of Destruction magicka to warm my hands and the surrounding area. A thought occurred to me, and I warmed the table.

"There are a number of factors which can contribute to a misdiagnosis," I went on. "Sometimes it's a problem that cannot be visualized until it worsens. And if an individual hasn't been completely candid with me--" I paused, shifting my fingers, and dug in. He made another noise. "-- in their answering of diagnostic questions, that would certainly confound the issue, unless I were lucky enough to notice significant enough indicia to the contrary."

Kynareth spare this man the consequences of my temper and my carelessness; I should have asked him the questions again. I should have re-checked. 

Brynjolf grunted a little-- it was a tricky area and I was keeping the pressure on-- but then his neck eased as the tiny muscles began to flutter, to signal that they were coming out of spasm. Broad, gentler strokes there now, to ease that discomfort.

"When I came out here, all I could treat was what I could determine to be at that time," I said, working carefully. "It seemed to be just some pulled muscles and inflammation, right? We resolved that. But, sometimes you heal something and it turns out that whatever-it-was happened to be masking some underlying condition." I continued to rub at his neck, more gently now that I was moving on towards the exquisitely tender muscles at the top of his chest and beneath his clavicles. As I worked, I watched his fine-grained skin go from pale to ruddy-dark, everywhere that the friction of my hands had passed. I could no longer see the freckles on his neck. 

Ruthlessly, I suppressed this observation.

"And, well-- sometimes I'm called upon to make a judgment, and it's just wrong. That's why I wanted you to see Danica for another going-over."

I'd thought of something. I turned back to Nadine, frowning. "What healing potions did you give him after I left?"

"Umm," mumbled Nadine. She was blushing.

"Nothing more than nature provides, lad," said Brynjolf, taking a little nibble at the underside of her inner thigh. She jumped. I winced, and shifted my stance just a bit.

"So I suppose you didn't listen to me about taking it easy on the exercise either?" I questioned.

No, they had not.

"It's actually good that you didn't take any potions," I said. "Probably would have overdone things if you'd had no pain at all. Did anyone else perform any healing magick on you since this injury? For any reason whatsoever?" 

"No," he said, puzzled. "Nadine said to get a healing mage, so that's what Drevis did. Some of the others can heal-- little things, though."

"Good," I said, with great relief. "Careless over-healing can do a great deal of harm." 

I decided that I would not tell Brynjolf what could have happened to him had someone slopped magicka around on him. Thankfully I had stifled my first angry impulse yesterday evening, and taken a more methodical approach. If only I had re-questioned him! The possible consequences were making me sweat. And I prayed he would consent to letting me take care of it-- Danica was an entire two days away. I continued to work on Brynjolf's poor unhappy knotted-up muscles as we waited, and quietly reviewed with him what would likely be necessary. 

After a time, he sighed deeply and said: "You have good hands, lad," and: "Just see to it, if you would."

Someone had finally brought me the requested needle. All the way from the tackshed at Whiterun Stables, I suppose.

"Ah, let's have a look," I said. I took it in hand and began to trace it along the places of his back where the nerves should pass.

After a few minutes of my poking and muttering, Brynjolf said, puzzled: "That doesn't hurt at all."

"No, of course not," I said. "I'm _working_. I'm not one of you people. I'm not here for _fun_." 

I frowned and retraced a path. Hm. "This is just checking for sensation to see what nerves might be afflicted. What exactly did you think I was going to do?" 

What!? 

That was needlessly instructive, I thought. 

Still, the explaining of it was keeping him calm and happy as I worked, so I let him talk. Certainly my face was afire, and that voice of his was remarkably, um-- well. It was really only a minor discomfort for me. 

Not all that discommoding. 

I noted another observation and moved onwards, towards his lumbar spine. "I'm just working out exactly where your trouble is located, and testing for impairments," I told him. "We're nearly finished with the needle-poking part, now." I traced over the areas which I had previously identified with the smallest of shock-magicka tracer. "I'm sorry," I added. "This is the bit that's going to be rather uncomfortable." Brynjolf grunted, alarmed, as the nerves twinged and his leg muscles spasmed, and I patted him till it eased. There it was. That was the right spot. I marked it, with a dab of bright Illusion magick. 

Nadine made a sound, interested in this. 

I murmured another supplies request to Nazir, who had been standing near, watching intently. Nazir raised a brow, but he went to comply. 

"I don't really think you're going to like this next bit," I said to Brynjolf, thoughtfully. "Or, I don't know, I suppose I ought not assume, being where we are--" 

I had better explain thoroughly. Brynjolf, eyes squinched firmly shut, agreed to consent. So long as I did not do that shock magicka thing again. I assured him I would not do that particular shock magicka thing again. Nazir returned with what I had requested, and within a very few moments, I was rather emphatically let know that no, no-- Brynjolf did not appreciate such doings, leastaways not in a medical context. Nadine petted his hair and soothed him. The results of this particular test, thankfully, were more reassuring. 

We were not too late.

I went inside to wash my hands, only to be confronted by an extremely aggrieved Adrianne and Ulfberth. They must have been just coming in; Ulfberth was still carrying a basket of what looked like supper fixings.

"Please," I said to her. "Let me be for now. I need to be settled to do this, and you are not helping." 

She wanted to argue with me about my trespass here.

"Let me decompress the poor man's spine first," I said. "Unless you want Brynjolf to lose the ability to walk? Or do anything else below the waist, really."

She drew in a breath. Ulfberth glowered at me.

"I've been trying to give everyone here the impression that I've been exaggerating for comic effect," I said, grimly. "I am not."

Adrianne scowled at me, darkly. "So you lied to him about it?"

"Brynjolf?" I gave her a severe look right back. "I do not misadvise patients. He's busily pretending that all of this is of no consequence to him. He's terrified. Nadine's aware. She's got him."

"Was all this just from him trying to lift her up like that?" Adrianne wanted to know. 

"It could be," I said, drying my hands. "It's the sort of injury that often comes from a weakness that's built over time. Any sort of strain or stress can bring it out, really." I shrugged. "Sometimes it's just bad luck." 

The two smiths traded glances; an injury like this would be their own worst nightmare.

"Is there anything you think you might need?" asked Ulfberth, who had set the basket down and was now tugging at his dark beard in concern.

"Yes," I said, with a groan. "If I could have it, Danica and Ahlam and access to the healing spring, and about six apprentices to hold him down, and--" I was already walking back to the yard. "I've got what I need. We'll muddle through," I said, mentally checking my magicka. It was low. Critically so. I tried to reach through the ley-lines, but Honningbrew is terrifyingly close to an unstable node--in no way was I grounded enough for that. I abandoned that approach. I was just going to have to rely on my reserve. My temples throbbed a warning. I had better get on with this before my hangover kicked back in.

Brynjolf, apprehensive, stiffened up as soon as I warned him we were about to begin. He nearly sat up.

"Kiss him," I instructed Nadine. She lifted her head and shook her hair back, giving me a querying look.

"Get down from there," I said. "Just sort of lean over and kiss him and touch him, shoulders and above. Just take care to not move him at all. He has to be still." I frowned at her. "Oh-- and put your hair up, will you? We don't need all that trailing about." She or Brynjolf had pulled it all down.

While Nadine had Brynjolf distracted I hit him with Danica's special shock-paralytic spell; it's a subtle thing. At low amplitude sometimes a subject won't notice a thing. The lack of movement almost seems volitional. He did not seem distressed. Nor did he seem to notice he could no longer move his arms or legs or torso, not with Nadine kissing the nape of his neck and murmuring to him. I tapped him with a couple other pin-prick type spells, which danced a constant movement over the very upper part of his back and shoulders. These wouldn't hurt to speak of, but they'd certainly keep his attention away from his lower back. I cleansed his lumbar area with more spellwork-- another clever invention of Danica's-- and glanced up. Brynjolf was wholly enraptured.

Really, I should hire Nadine as a surgical assistant in every case.

The surgery itself appeared to be extraordinarily trivial for something so delicate, and in mere moments I was finished, working over the tiny incision with several layers of healing spells. I was particularly proud of this one; it was spellwork only, with only the very smallest of holes in the flesh and neither instrument nor fingers to sully the wound.

"Everything's stabilized," I said. "You can help him sit up now." She did, and Brynjolf took a deep breath, as if to steel himself against death by asphyxiation. I watched her squeeze him back against her bosom, and noted his expression: At least he'd die happy.

"Is all that pins-and-needles feeling you've had starting to go away?" I asked.

He lifted his face, briefly. "It is at that," he said, startled, and attempted to burrow back in.

"Now, where's that needle," I mused, casting about for it. "We'll need to do those sensation tests again, just to be certain-- but I'm confident that we're good. It was a pretty classic herniation."

Without moving from his rather delectable pillow, Brynjolf rolled one eye in my direction: "We don't need to do that arsehole test again, do we, lad?"

It is an odd thing. For me, there always comes to be a moment when I just _know_. 

"Only if you feel yourself in dire need," I said, demurely. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> June 5's r/fanfiction prompt has Gwilin being stubborn for us!: Brick. Has a character encountered a brick wall that they can't get passed, or does it just feel like they're talking to one?


	28. --Before we discuss blame.

No help for it. Demonstrating trepidation would be pointless. Worse, it would be outright offensive. If I had the face to commit such a monstrously offensive act, I could certainly bear up to a few moments of admonishment. I strode briskly up to the house and knocked. 

Ulfberth War-Bear blinked at me, his dark brows registering surprise. He looked somewhat taken aback. After a moment he wiped his streaming face with a cloth and gestured: Come in. 

I had picked my time carefully; a Turdas evening at sunset, when he and Adrianne would just have finished their last working lecture to their apprentices and sent them on their way back to their families for the weekend; and had banked their forge till Morndas. I slipped the small note that I had been carrying back into my pocket-- had Ulfberth denied me the chance to speak to them, I would have popped it into their letter-slot. No matter their attitude towards me, it would be reprehensible for me to fail to give them fair warning.

Ulfberth showed me into a large bed-sitter room, explaining that they were both just now coming in from work.

I looked around. An enormous four-poster bed anchored one side of the room. A low leather topped bench of some sort sat in front of the cold hearth. Ulfberth directed me to sit there, and I did, whilst he dragged a couple of chairs over from the table in the kitchen alcove. This bench seemed suspiciously low to the ground even for humans, but I did not wish to challenge his hospitality, so I took it. 

Immediately I regretted it.

My knees protruded upwards as I sat, almost to my very ears, like the fabled stork in the fox's den. A nice little trick, often exploited by the First Council; via the short-legged Penal Chair reserved solely for those summoned in for reprimand. Also, I had this headmaster once who-- well. I tried to re-arrange my limbs into a less ridiculous posture, and failed.

Adrianne Avenicci joined us, still flushed and sweating from forge-work, her dark eyes stern. She did not seem inclined towards forgiveness, no. Gods help me, I have faced down Sapiarchs who have had me dead to rights, but never for a sin of this magnitude. And here I was, to put her under greater pressure. I was not looking forward to the ensuing blow-out.

"You have business with us?" Adrianne demanded, the force of her anger a shock to me, even though I had anticipated it.

I took a quick breath, trying to ignore the sweat that had pooled under my shirt. 

“My understanding is that your organization has some grievances to air, in regards to me and my household? Which I am more than willing to discuss, but--"

Adrianne tried to interrupt me, but I pressed forward:

"Before we get on to anything else,” I said. “I must advise you that the Thalmor will be here in force in approximately two weeks, for the second weekend of Sun’s Height. Not one of our usual military patrols. It is the First Emissary’s security detail.” 

Ulfberth's face blanched white with shock beneath the ruddy patches caused by the forge-work. Adrianne went nearly green beneath her dark spray of freckles.

"What-- what did we ever do to you?" asked Ulfberth, hoarsely, his big hands twisting against each other.

For a moment I didn't comprehend.

"No!" I said hastily. "Oh no no. I would never give the Thalmor any information about your Sanctum or its people." I winced. "Even if I _were_ that beastly-- it would amount to professional suicide." It would be a monstrous, terrible, despicable act-- and I knew full well what it would gain me:

 _Why didn't you file a report at the time you discovered this place, Justiciar? Do you perhaps have your own special interests?_

Oh, this was not a good time to be having such thoughts. 

I felt a hot flush rise up my face and bit down on the inside of my lip, trying not to excite notice. And realized I had better say something quickly; this homely room seemed to be a Dwemeri condensing-chamber and-- from Adrianne's jaw-- the atmosphere-pressure was rising.

"It's--ah-- nothing to do with you," I blurted, trying not to squirm. "It's for me. My--ah-- commencement. For my Adept level. The First Emissary insisted on being a witness to it, and there was no way that I could refuse without giving offense. And then she suggested that we take care of some of those coming-of-age rituals that I missed; and the official conferral of my promotion in rank amongst the Thalmor, and--" 

It is very difficult, I have found, to carry off nonchalant little gestures when one's shoulders are so severely hunched. 

"You know," I finished lamely. "All these familial obligations."

I could see the brown bristles of Ulfberth's beard moving as he struggled to work this out. Familial obligations? Adrianne's freckled brow had creased.

"I do not want the Thalmor to visit Elysium any more than you wish for them to turn up at your Sanctum," I told them, hurriedly, before Adrianne could explode. "But the Aldmeri Dominion's First Emissary to Skyrim--" I grimaced. "She happens to be my eldest sister."

"The most infamous and ruthless interrogator in the Aldmeri Dominion--" began Adrianne. 

"--is your sister," said Ulfberth.

For some reason, this little tidbit did not seem to be making Adrianne Avenicci feel better. In fact, she was fingering her dagger-haft and visibly starting to wonder: how long would it be, until I would be missed.

I nodded, glumly: "We don't get on." 

It was far easier to regard the knees of my brown linen trousers-- conveniently nearby!--than their faces.

"I did try to get out of it," I supplemented. "Or to move the ceremony to some less sensitive locale. But Danica Purespring can't be gone from Kynareth's temple for long; and for some reason Rorikstead was right out. Then Colette Marence said she didn't mind travelling, this time of year. And the Archmage had to weigh in on all of this and-- all of this fuss for a little family party." I sighed heavily. "Unfortunately, I don’t think I can prevent the First Emissary's people from wandering down to the meadery to sample its wares, and of course the Thalmor will be closely monitoring population movement while they are here...”

They did not follow.

I grimaced. “That’s how we found you out.”

"Found out? How?" asked Ulfberth, blankly.

"Population movement analysis," I said, again. "Trivial, really. Too many people coming and going from the meadery at odd hours. It's how we determined the existence of the Sanctum. Gotten rather busy since last fall, hasn't it?"

Mistake: I had just re-lit the coals under our little boiling chamber. Adrianne became further riled.

"So-- you spied on us?" she accused. “Why are you interfering with the Sanctum? We have done nothing to you."

I laced hands to hold onto my knees to spare my back the stress of this ridiculous posture: "No," I said, firmly. "Once we saw what you were and that you were harmless, my household left you strictly alone."

Adrianne wanted to argue to me, but I said: "It was well after that-- just coming on spring?-- when your people began to approach the members of my household. To visit the house, to chat and whatnot." I frowned at her. "Ahtar told me that you had some issues with confidentiality? I assure you that none of my people have gone on poking and prying. It's your people who have been encroaching--" No, that was much too hostile-- "pardon me, approaching my property and my householders. And all of you seem to converse rather freely."

Now Adrianne was wanting to know who amongst the Sanctum members had done this-- her voice rising, she demanded places, and times, and what was said. Her face had recovered its usual hue, that magnificent high complexion, with the gold-brown strands of her hair sticking to the perspiration glistening on her neck.

Ulfberth waved his wife silent. She sat fuming.

"When are these Thalmor coming?" Ulfberth demanded.

"Middas or so of that first week of the month, for the leading scouts. The remainder of the First Emissary's party is expected to arrive on Fredas-- so I would highly advise that you be shut down by that Tirdas. Preferably sooner. I don’t want my household business becoming known amongst the Thalmor, either,” I said. "Ahtar and Erdi will be sent away." Someplace far.

“Excuse us,” said Ulfberth, hastily. 

I stepped out to their back garden to give them time to confer.

They were already aggrieved with me, and here I'd brought them more cause to be, and terrified them into the bargain. I began to pace back and forth along the little brick path with the wrought-iron edging.

The back door opened.

“You’ve said when they arrive. When will they be leaving?”

“Morndas or Tirdas for certain,” I said to Ulfberth. “The First Emissary is supposed to be present for only one full day-- Loredas-- but I shouldn’t like to guarantee that they will be gone any sooner. The scouts should be clearing ahead of them as they go, not behind, but again--” I shrugged, helplessly. "They're thorough."

The door closed.

I was in for it now. But, no matter what the two blacksmiths determined to be fair wergeld... it was not going to be as bad as this damned party.

Brynjolf’s little complaint against me was perfectly poised for maximum humiliation: if Danica Pure-Spring chose to withhold her approval and refuse to confer my Adept level, here at the ceremony in front of all these Thalmor would be the best time for her to do it. Certainly it would be a lessoning I would deserve. 

Was Danica that politically tone-deaf? I did not think so. 

But... 

Certainly Danica _was_ that principled.

I kept walking, back and forth.

\--

“Come in,” said Adrianne, glowering at me. “We have much to discuss.”

\--

Ulfberth grimaced to concede the point, but his wife’s features remained set.

"As of now the Thalmor consider Whiterun Hold a backwater.” I gave a self-deprecating laugh, grateful to have been granted the dignity of a chair, at least. “Nothing happens here, so it's a good little paddock for a Justiciar who’s gained his post through nepotism instead of merit.” 

I was forcing myself to sit easily, counting breaths and willing calm. To myself, to this place, and to a tense and agitated Adrianne. My hands lay flat on the table, sensing the wood of its surface; the grain of the oak running through the table legs; the tiled floor which rested upon the soil of Nirn, and the many layers of Mundus on down to the root of all existence. 

"At first I thought it might please my sister," I said, looking into her still angry eyes. Brown lit with cherry-amber, just like Ahtar in a rage, or when he-- I bit my lip and continued. "For me to fall into some disgrace. She has ambitions which would be benefited." 

I looked to Ulfberth, who was sitting easily now, just as if Justiciars routinely stopped by his home to make threats. He is not a man easily rattled, to say the least. Nor is he easy to read.

"But then I realized," I went on. "The First Emissary would never believe it. If I get passed over or sent down, she will believe it to be the work of some unknown enemy against our House. Some political manuver." I leaned forward, willing her to listen. "And that's when the Embassy's Thalmor will begin to take an interest in this Hold." I drew breath. "I know that you have your complaints against me,” I said to Adrianne, intently. “And were my own superiors to be advised of what you have learned about my household-- well, that would be endless trouble for me, and I think you know it." 

This, this would need a light hand. I hesitated, just a little, and took great care to moderate my tone. "But I think you also know how very useful it would be for the Thalmor to garner similar information about your people. Leverage, if not outright blackmail. Constant demands for favors. Believe me, none of you would wish to become one of our agents."

Even the thought of this happening to the proud Adrianne Avenicci made me feel sick.

“What do you want?” asked Ulfberth, coldly enough that I startled, and my gaze went to him. 

"Please," I said. "If you could." I grimaced. "Refrain from speaking to Danica Pure-Spring about any of--" 

I winced.

"--any of the trouble I've caused you," I finished, lamely. "Until all of this is over and the Thalmor have gone."

Adrianne snorted and said: "What makes you think--"

I held up a hand: "I understand," I said, softly. "You have good reason to complain that I have abrogated a healer's oath and forfeited any right to claim the perquisites of an Adept, after last week's ill-work. But--" I moistened my lips. "I'll say this. I will abide by whatever restrictions Danica or Colette Marence place on me, so long as none of it gets communicated to the Thalmor. They will not take it well."

"That illusion magick was substantial cruelty, to a man who did nothing to you," said Adrianne. Her eyes pierced mine. "It was monstrous."

"There is no excuse," I agreed, grimly. "And it would not be fair to consider anyone else worthy of blame; that transfiguration was all my doing. I know that Ahtar suspects-- well. Marcus had nothing to do with it. You might as well blame Vilkas. The two of them did no more than laugh and egg me on." I coughed, to stifle a groan. "We were all _exceedingly_ drunk."

The two of them said nothing.

"So," I said, to break a long silence. "If there is wergeld to be owed to your Sanctum, I will pay it," I said.

Adrianne said: "Not with septims. Money means nothing to you."

I regarded her contemptuous face; her clenched hands. And other signifiers. It was a thought. Perhaps even one that we shared. But only a passing thought. 

"That is coin in which I cannot pay," I warned.

Ulfberth interrupted both of us, to direct that we make peace. He had been thinking for awhile, about this problem of the party. 

He had some suggestions. And it was well past time for supper. Perhaps we could pick something up from the Huntsman?

\---

"I did have another question for you two," I said, pushing back my plate at last.

"Hm?" asked Adrianne, peaceable now that we had gotten through a dozen or so bottles of beer.

"Does, ah, Brynjolf know that I was the one who changed the statue?"

The two of them looked at each other. I saw Ulfberth smirk, and inwardly groaned.

"We rather thought that you should be the one to tell him that," said Adrianne to me, with great satisfaction.

I flinched.

Sadists.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> June 6th r/fanfiction prompt: Monster. Has your character encountered a creature larger than expected, or is the monster inside them?
> 
> June 7th r/fanfiction prompt: Pressure. With enough heat, water becomes a gas and exerts pressure. Applied correctly, that pressure can move tons - but if mishandled, it can explode violently. What is building pressure in your story?
> 
> Wait, am I still on time? .... what month is this....? Shhh!


	29. Everyone's fault but yours, right?!

"Oh, look!" said Nazir, with terrifying cheer. "Another list, from our favorite Justiciar. The one who caused all that trouble with the statue. Ah! It's addressed to Adrianne." He had made no effort to keep his voice down, and heads were turning all along the table. Ostentatiously, he handed it over to her, as she walked by him on her way to the head of the table. 

The denizens of the Sanctum were all crowded onto the benches of the big trestle table that ran the length of the room. The table itself was set with blue-and-white porcelain bowls holding crushed ice, courtesy of Drevis Neloran, to chill the big round-bottomed bottles of Alto white; platters of white and brown bread and small pots of fish paste and preserved netch jelly with scatheclaw-blossom pollen awaited them. Bowls of the new strawberries and the first mountain berries nestled beside each other, near a copper dish filled with hard-boiled pullet eggs. Silver pitchers of posca and ice-water glimmered with condensation. Small ivory dishes holding dark-green asparagus and tiny coiled fern-heads ringed this bounty, and there was even an earthenware bowl holding the season's new cheese.

Adrianne Avenicci called for silence.

It has come to my attention that we all could use a reminder as to one of the more important tenets of the Sanctum: Confidentiality."

It ill-behooves a senior member of the Sanctum to roll his eyes, so Nazir chose to turn his attention aside, as if plotting a hunt. Where would he begin his attack upon this repast? His stomach growled. Drevis Neloran was seated right beside him, so it would not do to reach for the netch jelly, he mused. But, if Nazir moved quickly he might be able to secure for himself both the fiddleheads and the new lettuce. On the other hand, the netch jelly was closest to Nazir, and if he could pounce swiftly-- Drevis was eyeing Nazir in return, no doubt performing the same calculus. 

Oh, Adrianne _was_ upset, she was naming names:

"Ysolda."

Ysolda had to stand and was making a tearful confession. Did it have to be now? How tiresome. Nazir's stomach asserted its own opinion, more loudly. At least Adrianne wasn't sorting out punishments; somewhat ominously, she deferred that till later. Well, that didn't bode well for the girl. Ysolda sat back down, wiping at her face, angry. That damned bard again, thought Nazir. Nazir hated bards, but one bard in particular drew his especial ire. 

Someday, he mused to himself, someday.

"Drevis Neloran," said Adrianne, firmly, and the Dunmer mage lifted his head, aggrieved. 

"From necessity, I assure you," Drevis said loudly, refusing to stand. "Unless you think I'd sprint a half-mile just to blab secrets," he muttered to Nazir. "I thought he'd broken his back," he said, more loudly. "All that I did was advise that there had been an injury and that we needed a Restoration mage immediately."

Adrianne shared a couple of words with Astrid, who nodded. "We'll excuse it," said Adrianne. "Since it proved to be a genuine emergency."

Nazir immediately put his hand to the small of Drevis' back, but the Illusion mage's posture did not ease. Nazir sighed. To placate the Dunmer, Nazir picked up the netch jelly and put it closer to his plate. Drevis Neloran, defying all the Sanctum's dinner-rules, took a big scoop of the jelly for himself, onto his own plate. Eyes widened all round.

"Nadine Rielle. Miss Rielle has already come forward and spoken with us," said Astrid, as the black-haired Breton stood before them, despondent.

"'Course she has," muttered Ysolda, dabbing at her eyes, furiously embarrassed. "Suck-up." 

Since it was Nazir's duty to handle incidents of insubordination, he made a noise very much like a muted roar: a warning. Ysolda fell silent. 

The litany of Nadine's misdeeds was read out by Adrianne. Nadine, grim-faced, took her seat. Another incident involving an intimate friend, thought Nazir. Still, it didn't involve him. 

One of the loaves of brown bread had lumpy spots on it. What was that? he wondered. Dried fruit? He resolved to try some. Assuming they ever got to eat. Nazir wasn't sure what the hot dishes were tonight-- those were still in the kitchen-- but they smelled enticing. He glanced down the table, and suddenly wondered: where was their newest member? He touched Drevis Neloran's arm to point out that Ahtar was missing, but Drevis shook his head abruptly and turned aside a little.

"Ingun Black-briar."

Hm? That was a surprise. Oh, yes. Nazir remembered. There had been quite a party, and several rather abjectly hungover young people in the Sanctum the next afternoon. Ingun stumbled and muttered and couldn't come up with a thing, so Astrid, her voice richly amused, read from the list. Ingun went from floundering to wholly quiet, and stood with her head drooping.

Aela? Well, that was a surprise, but then Nazir recalled that little arrangement that the Companions had with Elysium's residents. And she had been at that party. He sighed through his teeth, and considered whether it would be appropriate to seize the closest loaf of bread. The rising scent of the dishes warming in the kitchen was killing him. He hadn't bothered with breakfast, and worked through lunch, and-- Drevis still had that expression on his face. He was angry.

Nazir had his hand on Drevis' back again, and was leaning forward to speak to him, so he almost didn't hear Adrianne:

"Nazir."

"What?" he demanded, thinking his services were being demanded-- and only then did he notice that Ulfberth had risen to his feet. So had Brynjolf. And now, reluctantly, so had Drevis. The whole room had gone quiet.

Then Ysolda smirked: "Beard the lion in his own den," she said, just barely loud enough for Nazir to hear her. Someone else inhaled, sharply.

"We'll discuss this in the back," said Adrianne, grimly. 

She regarded the rest of the table.

"Everyone is to follow the rules here," she said. "No one is exempt. Do we have an understanding?"

"Yes, Miss," said Gwilin at once, and the others followed in a ragged chorus.

"Good," said Adrianne. "Enjoy your supper. The rest of us will rejoin you all in a few moments."

It did not prove to be a pleasant conversation.

And Drevis Neloran, damn him, was the only one of the six of them who got any of the netch jelly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For r/fanfiction's prompt of June 9: Lion. Powerful hunters and caring parents, these beasts kill only what they need to. Tell us about the lion in your story. Nazir thinks he's king of the jungle-- but he's gonna hear all about it from the rest of the leaders of the pride.


	30. Let's not keep imputing bad motives to each other.

"Just what did he mean by all this?" Brynjolf asked, plaintively.

"Oh, he didn't mean anything at all by it," Nadine murmured. "Drunk as a lord." She took another strawberry, dipped it in the cream, and ate it with relish, closing her eyes in rapture as the sweet juice flooded her mouth. "Drunk and thinking about things he shouldn't," she added, wiping her lips.

Brynjolf pushed himself up on his arms to examine the mostly-empty platter. Nadine fed him a strawberry. He ate it, but with a great gusting sigh flopped onto the bed supine, red hair spilling across the emerald of the sheets. Nadine could see the little glints of where it was turning silver, at his temples and forehead. She smiled at him, and used the wicker tray's linen napkin to wipe her hands clean.

"Like to know what a Thalmor Justiciar thinks he shouldn't think about," he said, disparagingly.

"Heretical theology and Dunmeri sex magick, for one," Nadine said, grabbing her small book from the table and curling up next to him. "For what it's worth, he didn't seem to have any particular animus towards you." She grinned, where Brynjolf couldn't see it. "Quite the opposite."

She paused: "Now I didn't see the statute, so I don't know if this drawing's completely accurate, but--"

"Give it here, lass."

Brynjolf leafed through the pages of Nadine's little book until he found the illustration, and frowned. He moved the book away from himself to get a better look at it, and then simply let it go, letting the book fall down onto the bed as he covered his face with his hands.

"Are you all right?" Nadine asked, alarmed. She reached to rescue her diary and closed it so that the pages wouldn't wrinkle.

He merely groaned.

" 'm just going to stay like this," Brynjolf mumbled, when she prompted him.

"What?" she said, smoothing the sheet over him, taking greater care in certain areas. "Forever?" Her hand lingered. "You have to admit, it was a bit of a flattering likeness in certain hmm...respects."

She caught the green glint as he peeked out at her, and then he lightly smacked her hand away. 

"Slut," he said, severely, and she grinned back at him, putting the tip of her tongue out briefly.

"So that Justiciar-- he was the one who did this. Cast that spell to change that statue. You're absolutely certain of this, now?"

"I should say so," said Nadine. "He admitted it to me. And Drevis said it was a pretty big expenditure of magicka all at once, so he wouldn't have expected it could have come from a human, unless it was someone on the level of Farengar Secret-Fire." She snorted. "Drevis said he'd like to have seen how it was done." She pulled her hair over her shoulder and began to tuck it into a loose braid. "I thought that those healing spells were much more interesting, though. That cleaning spell would come in handy when adventuring-- I wonder if Danica would consider teaching an abbreviated version of her course for field medicine..." 

Brynjolf wasn't listening to her. He had rolled to his side and was looking at the sketch again. Then rifled back a few pages, clearly reading her diary entries to cheer himself up. Then he sighed again, hugely. "Drevis is--"

"Drevis is rather put out with you," agreed Nadine. "But it's nothing that sitting down with him and talking it through wouldn't fix." She pushed her legs outward, to lie down again. It was a beautiful morning, with a delightful late-spring breeze wafting through the Sanctum, and Nadine intended to enjoy all of it. She tugged the pillow more securely under her head. 

Brynjolf was complaining again. 

"I wouldn't worry," she said, drowsily. "Nazir said that if you two couldn't figure it out, he'd step in and take care of it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha! Easy one here: r/fanfiction's June 8th prompt: Sweet. Whether it’s the smell of flowers or a kind gesture, most of us enjoy sweetness. So what's sweeter than Nadine?


	31. I am Sorry. I am!

It had been a quiet, wretched admission wherein I had confessed to Brynjolf all that I had done to the Talos statue and done my poor best to apologize. For my own conduct; for Marcus' conduct--Brynjolf was severely agitated about Marcus--but I was quite clear about who it was that he ought to blame. Myself. My gut was all twining about itself with shame.

I don't know what I expected in response-- a torrent of profanity? Brynjolf remained quiet throughout. Cold-eyed. Watchful. 

"Drunk," was the only word he said. His jaw was set and his eyes were chips of green ice.

I nodded.

Brynjolf's silence conveyed further contempt, as if I were not even worth his anger.

I used the excuse of putting my satchel down to look away from him. Taking refuge in my best professional manner, I gestured towards Nazir's table. "Hop up. Let's get this over with. No, I don't need all that off-- just loosen your clothes enough for me to get at your lower back."

I looked around at the dim surroundings while I waited, taking breaths to calm myself from the still-writing embarrassment. It was still rather early on a Fredas afternoon, and the Sanctum was dead quiet. If I kept doing house calls out here, I mused, I might have to revisit my fee structure.

What? 

Of course I had agreed to a house call. I was still leery of Adrianne's wrath. She and I were nearing a negotiated settlement in regards to my opprobrious behavior, and by no means was I about to refuse any reasonable request. Not at this delicate juncture. All in all, the leaders of the Sanctum were being rather lenient with me, for reasons I could not fully determine. This matter of my offensive conduct would be set aside until the impending crisis of my little house party was over. I wasn't about to question it. Not with the threat of wergeld still hanging over me. 

Notwithstanding recent admonishment, Vex had come over to tell stories over dinner. I was a bit concerned.

"All seems to be well," I said after a couple of moments. I stepped well away to give the senior Thieves' Guild member (what in the Sixteen Planes had I been thinking?!) plenty of space. "Did you happen to follow orders this time?"

Brynjolf's cold, clipped response was ill-suited to that lilting voice of his; I couldn't quite follow the rest of it. I did discern a somewhat resentful "Adrianne"-- by which I surmised that lady had compelled Brynjolf to follow my directives to the letter. Which meant he had spent a couple of nights in her and Ulfberth's ground-floor bed so that he would not have to negotiate stairs. And no further gymnastics.

Too bad for Brynjolf. I shook that thought out of my head, vigorously.

"Did you happen to go see Danica that next morning?"

"Danica wasn't back yet." Brynjolf was still getting his clothing back in order. "Saw Ahlam." In a tone just shy of freezing, he grudged me: "Said it was good work."

I buried my sigh of relief by leaning down to grab his cuirass for him, and held the straps so that he could buckle into it more easily. 

Brynjolf thanked me for it, uncomfortably. We were still avoiding eye contact.

I turned to the side, keeping an eye Brynjolf whilst pretending to attend to my already sufficiently-repacked kit. He was still doing up his various buckles, the bright strands of his hair falling down along his faded browns and greys of his leathers; his face somber. Whoops, I was lingering a bit too long. I plucked a vial out of its loop and began an unnecessary examination of its contents.

"So. When do I need to see you again?" 

"I'm sorry?" I said, to buy myself a few more seconds. My mind had quite gone blank. Somehow my hand let go of the vial of powdered mountain-flower, and just then it chose to roll all the way down Nazir's bench and drop onto the floor.

"For the back," Brynjolf said, gruffly. He cleared his throat, making an effort to make his words less truculent, because who knew what future regimen I might prescribe for him, with Adrianne to enforce it.

"Oh! We're all done," I told him. I knelt down to begin casting about for the vial.

"That's it, then?" 

My fingers had just touched the vial. I froze, and it slipped out of my grasp and bounced under the table. It's just that damned accent of his, I told myself sternly. Don't read things into it. 

It is so very difficult to maintain one's dignity when one is floundering about, trying to grab something that is just out of reach under a table. Brynjolf was still watching me. Dammit! What was it, covered in oil? I should have just abandoned the silly thing. It skittered away from me again. I had been at this too long-- I was not about to concede defeat now. Finally my fingertips brushed against the vial, and I took hold of it.

I looked up. For a mercy, Brynjolf wasn't laughing. Even better, he was no longer scowling. He looked...um. Thoughtful.

"Yes," I said brightly, rising. "You are hereby released from any further medical care. Your back's good as new-- no limitations on your activities at all."

"None then?" Just the barest trace of that teasing humor had crept back into his voice.

I did my best to maintain my demeanor as a horrid betraying flush crept up my neck. Still, I met his gaze: "None."

"Hmm," he said, the expression on his face going a bit wry. "If it gets poorly again, I'll have Adrianne call you back in." He paused to get his baldric settled and, under his breath said: "Remarkable hands."

I do not know why I had not immediately tucked that cursed vial back into my bag, but I was still holding onto it. I continued to hold onto it, but it was a near thing. I managed to get it slotted away in my bag without further incident.

"You're welcome to come up to Elysium house any time you feel yourself in need of further examination," I said briskly, without daring to look around.

"I thought you were just saying that it wasn't necessary for me to see you?" Brynjolf challenged. So which is it, then?"

"Absolutely it is not a necessity," I murmured, not turning to meet his gaze. "It is a pretext."

Brynjolf drew in a breath.

But before we could continue this fascinating conversation, a young Nord woman came up to us, rather briskly.

Vex is waiting on you," she advised him, with a pugnacious little scowl at me. I had not made a friend here.

Me? Whatever had I done to her? Oh, right. This must be Ysolda. I was tempted to act like Marcus and annoy her with questions about the tasks she'd set for him and Erdi-- what in Oblivion did Ysolda plan to do with that mammoth tusk? Even the Sanctum couldn't possibly-- it was nigh as broad as Ulfberth's forearm! And what was so special about that tree sap? I had drunk an entire pint of the stuff and never felt a thing. Not even when I fell off Jorrvaskr's roof.

The two of us watched her stalk away, copper ponytail bobbing along.

"Not anytime soon," Brynjolf said to me, regretfully. "I've got plans with Vex and Ysolda." 

"Ah," I said. "Well, then. You're welcome. Whenever."

Despite the collar that ringed her neck, I could predict how this evening's activities would transpire:

What Ysolda wants, Ysolda gets.

It was an enthralling mental image, to be sure. 

But good sense prevailed, and I took my leave of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> June 10: Ice. Fun in the snow or the bringer of frostbite, frozen hearts or defrosting ice queens. What’s the source of cold in your story? (300 words)


	32. Everyone's welcome to come and eat.

"Did you plan your party, then?" asked Nadine.

Oh, damn.

I tried to offer explanations. Justifications. Excuses. Nadine wasn't listening to any of it.

"You really don't have much time," she said, frowning at me, severely.

All my efforts to evade my familial responsibilities have been for naught. What did this little exercise matter, anyway? My intention had always been to seek mastership in each of the magickal disciplines; Restoration being merely the first of what I expected to be many accomplishments. I had asked: couldn't all of this wait? 

It could not wait. 

There are certain expectations, amongst mer of my class. Or so I have been not-so-subtly reminded by my older sister. Who, unfortunately, is not First Emissary to Morrowind or Black Marsh. Or someplace further from here. Perhaps Artaeum will oblige me someday by re-rooting itself, or mysterious Akavir return, or Yokuda surface, or poor lost Aldmeris come home--but until then I will be stuck with the First Emissary as close by as a carriage-ride to Haafingar. 

Elenwen and I were born to very different worlds. I find this celebration of me inexpressibly gauche; but it is her opinion and not mine that matters. As she reminded me in her last letter. At length.

So, I found myself still roped into hosting this ridiculous party.

Upon their arrival, the First Emissary and her immediate staff would be guests inside my home. My skin was crawling at the very thought. The more prestigious guests from the College of Winterhold would be installed in our guesthouse, and the lesser mages and students and so on would be housed in tents in our yard. The Dominion soldiery could set up outside of Elysium’s yard, in the tundra fields. Hopefully they would stay in their tents.

Supper on Fredas evening would be courtesy of the First Emissary; a hunter’s feast, she had said. They would be keeping an eye out for game along the road.

There were several ceremonies planned for Loredas-- some other observances which had become long overdue for me--and it would be a fasting-day for all of the Thalmor until after the main ceremony which would confer Adept status upon myself.

The meal Loredas evening would be my problem to solve. Hopefully it would go late enough that everyone would just wander back to their tents afterwards, but I doubted it, and the closest thing to a tourist attraction in half a hundred miles is Honningbrew Meadery. Thank the gods that the Sanctum leaders being sensible about closing down for the duration.

The ladies had previously had a discussion about this supper, and the other refreshments that I would be putting out for the Thalmor coming down from the Embassy. 

"Oh?" I said. "I was thinking that if we kept the comestibles sparse, that might encourage them to decamp immediately." I smiled, and took another large bite of glazed ham. "It would be that or starve," I said, with my mouth full.

Nadine was laughing. "If they wither away you won't have to deal with them anymore, is that right?"

"Absolutely not!" Erdi snapped.

We both looked at her. She was sitting with her arms folded, offended. It's at the oddest moments that she reminds us of what she used to be: a servitor in the High King's palace.

"You're not even going to be here," I said, nastily.

"It's childish. And hardly becoming to the household's dignity," Erdi said. "Also, do you really want it to be a point of contention for the rest of your life? Imagine your sister going on about the stale bread rolls you foisted on her-- every Saturalia for the rest of her life." Which could be a thousand more years. Erdi said: "My suggestion is that we seek more expert assistance."

Hence, Nadine.

After all that had happened, for some reason Nadine felt as if she owed me a favor. I was not going to argue; in fact, I mused, I was going to exploit her to the utmost. 

"Cyrelian," said Erdi, reprovingly. "Mind looking at the menu?"

I could see Nadine's little grin, but obediently I averted my gaze and began to read my way down the hastily-scrawled list.

“This meal is pretty meat-heavy for most Altmer,” I said, doubtfully. “Roast pork loin? Problem being that there really aren’t a lot of good options for seafood this far south. I didn’t think it was worth trying to bring anything down from the Sea of Ghosts on ice.”

The weather was getting warmer; there was too great a chance of spoilage. And likely it was already too late for me to send up an order.

“What about crayfish?” Nadine suggested. “Or we could work in some salted kwama eggs. We’ve got plenty over at the Sanctum.”

“Oh, I know,” I said. “Let’s leave the pork. But instead of the cold marinated rare beef slices, why not do a lentil salad with that same wine vinegar? Maybe use some of the new greens for garnish?”

Nadine frowned. "That's why we have beef consommé," she pointed out. From the bones, she meant. Bretons are remarkably frugal with their cuisine, as lavish as it seems. Nothing goes to waste.

"We could always scrap the idea of soup," I said. "We weren't sure that the weather's going to be cool enough for it. But cold crayfish salad might be good."

“That would save the kwama eggs for the next course,” said Nadine, making a note. “As a garnish or substitute for the pork. And we could put out a few other similar things for those who don’t want to partake.” She made a note, and looked up. “If you feed your guests enough they’re not going to want to go wandering around at all. Maybe you should get some more comfortable chairs? And how many did you say were coming?”

“Six from the Embassy is what the First Emissary said. She wants to take a couple of the new people out for orientation. That's not including the soldiers, but they're on their own and will eat their own rations. From Winterhold, Colette Marence and her other two students,” I said. “Probably four or five more from the College. And Danica’s got five coming with her. Oooh.”

“What?” said Erdi, with alarm. It was the way I had said it.

“I just realized something,” I said. 

“Hm?”

“Ahlam’s bringing her husband.” I rubbed my forehead. Was that the headache again?

“You’ll survive,” said Erdi, with little sympathy. I hesitated. No, I did not want to tell Erdi about all that. So I let it go.

She went to the ground floor to get our dirty laundry and I ran to get the door for her; and to get the hot water started at the laundry-tub's tap.

When I returned, Nadine was still mulling over recipe ideas out loud. 

At her direction, I went downstairs to take an inventory of our food stores and to look over what wine we have. By then, Erdi was done with the bedlinens. I went out to hang up the sheets and blankets while I considered what we ought to do about the main course. My opinion was that if we were going to do a full sit-down meal, it ought to be spectacular.

“Nonsense,” said Nadine, firmly, once she was so advised. She put her quill down. “These people are travelling, right?”

I acknowledged that this was so. The Thalmor would be here from the Embassy and I could expect that at least one or two would be coming from overseas. The Winterhold people also had a long road; it was coming up to springtime's full blush, but we could expect the roads to still be a soggy mess in patches. And of course, there was always the possibility of rain.

“Last thing they want is to face is some imposing entree that looks like a work of art, " said Nadine. "Give them something more approachable. Something homelike and comfortable.”

“Netch jelly?” I wondered, dubiously, looking over her shoulder. Mind you, it’s good-- we have several kinds at the College--but I wasn’t certain if the fussier Altmer would be eager to sample it.

“Just as one of the condiments for the roast pork,” Nadine assured me. “There will be five or six others. You’ll have what, at least three Dunmer?”

“Four,” I sighed. I couldn’t not invite Drevis Neloren, now that I knew he was down here every Fredas-to-Morndas and that I was either going to have to study Illusion magick or take another sabbatical. Hopefully he’d keep his antics to himself. The First Emissary’s security team is highly allergic to Invisibility spells and very fond of a little cantrip called Mind Scramble. Which would be quite unfortunate for Master Drevis and also mean a significant delay for the start of my next term. 

I was going to be stuck with him as an advisor, too. Neither of us were looking forward to it.

“We could make the dessert spectacular,” said Erdi, on her return. “That would solve both problems.” Our linen had dried almost instantly in the warm breeze, and she was shaking out our underthings, smoothing them with her palm against the polished wood of the dining table, and folded them. I would be taking the hot iron to them later, so there was no need, but there is no persuading Erdi of this; she likes our clothing just so. 

“You want a pièce montée,” said Nadine. thoughtfully. “A focal point. Like, maybe, a sugar-paste Restoration symbol?” She tapped the goose feather against her chin, re-inked her pen, and made a note.

“Ah--” I began. “Not sure that would be well-received,” I said. “Altmer never do anything purely for aesthetics. I’d hate to come across as… you know," I winced. "Showy. We do like our things to be beautiful, yes, but an object of appeal needs to have some underlying purpose.”

Nadine raised her hands skyward in disgust: “Thalmor. So utilitarian!” A little ink dripped onto the table, and I hastened to wipe it up.

“No reason we can’t make something more edible that’s pretty,” I said. “I know of a farm up north where we can get fresh flowers. Roses, even.” So far all we had were the early crocuses and violets. We would definitely have apple blossom by next week, if it didn't rain too hard. Our garden would not be fledged for several weeks, but there were some wildflowers in the fields.

Nadine was nodding. “Local ingredients?” she queried. For the showpiece dessert, she meant.“Or do we want to go all out? The rest of the meal except for the netch jelly is local. I’d suggest all out.”

Erdi and I agreed with this. Most definitely.

“Croque-en-bouche” said Nadine, definitively. “With moonsugar filaments and candied flowers and whipped drem nectar and cream for the filling. With a spiced mead-reduction for the glaze.” Her expression turned dreamy. “You know. Caramelized.”

My mouth tried to parse this and failed. I love sweet things, but-- I worked my jaw. Even the sound of this thing made my teeth ache.

“Can’t we have rice pudding?” I asked, plaintive.

“A few homely things as well." Nadine made a note, and a soothing noise. "We can also have rice pudding."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> June 11: Wither. When parched of water or deprived of nutrition, life begins to wither. What is struggling to survive today? Cyr wants it to be the Thalmor, but I suppose that's just not good form.


	33. It's a block party, really. All welcome.

"I've heard there's a bawd-house, just down the lane," said Savos Aren, expansively.

"Is there?" said Ondolemar, interested. He glanced over his shoulder-- we all looked over, just to be sure. The First Emissary was standing at the far end of the flower garden in conversation with Danica Pure-Spring. We were safe.

I noted that the flowering heads of the nearest rosebush had craned around to listen to our conversation. I began to revisit the notion of whether that cantrip had been a good idea. 

"Wine this early?" Ondolemar said, surprised, as I interrupted to proffer a cup of wine to each.

"I expect it's eight bells somewhere," I said, carelessly. We Thalmor were not supposed to be drinking; we were supposed to be fasting. I took my own cup to signify that I wasn't about to become an informant; there was no way I was getting through this day without plenty of fortification. Ondolemar relaxed a trifle. 

"You were saying, Arch-Mage?" I asked.

Savos Aren was only too happy to repeat himself, this time with informative gestures, to demonstrate just what sort of bawd-house he meant.

Ondolemar raised his brows. "Really," he said. "I never would have thought such a thing of Nords." He took another drink, and smirked."Bretons, maybe."

"Oh, that place," I put in. "There's been rumors about it the whole time I've lived here. Whatever it was, it's closed now." And it would be open next week, but these gentlemen did not need to know all that. "Would you care for a bit more of the Frostview Blanc, Commander?"

Ondolemar, it seems, has gotten used to drinking quickly out of self-defense, whenever he is in the First Emissary's vicinity. Elenwen disapproves. But as to why our Commander Ondolemar insists on drinking the wretched swill that wine from Chorrol becomes by the time it reaches Skyrim, I cannot fathom. Ondolemar might as well cut it with moonsugar and peppermint and call it sek. Or use it for scrubbing down the privy. I sampled it. It certainly tasted vinegary enough. Discreetly, I tipped my cup. Hopefully it wouldn't kill my new yellow rosebushes, freshly installed and holding pride of place in my ceramic planters.

"There's a meadery at the corner of the crossroads up that way," I informed them. "Not so exciting as a den of iniquity-- just a taproom-- but the mead itself is phenomenal. And sometimes the Khajiiti traders set up across the lane and play music. Sell a bit of food and trinkets." I lowered my voice. "Now, if you're looking for-- you know-- you'd have to go up into the city itself. And there isn't a house, that I know of. So you'd be taking your chances on the street." Said chances to include the possible bonus of a dagger in the belly. Thalmor are not liked in Whiterun.

Just about then, Nadine came enthusiastically bounding out of the house to check on the pig that was set up to roast at our outdoor firepit, and to chivvy her assistants into turning it and glazing it more often. Laughing, she wiped her hands on her apron and headed into the guest house, to change clothes for the ceremony. Ondolemar's gaze followed her, as yellow-eyed and intent as a wolf tracking yearling elk.

"She's the daughter of a very well established family out of Daggerfall," I warned. "Some connection to the ducal household, I believe."

"One of my students," said Savos Aren, in much the same forbidding tone, watching the Thalmor commander through narrowed eyes. "I take a personal interest in those who are talented in Conjuration Magick."

"What about the other black-haired one over there?" 

I cleared my throat: "That's the favorite daughter of Maven Black-Briar," I said. "You want to see more of _her_ up at the Embassy?"

Ondolemar visibly gave up on this enterprise and drank his wine. White wine, for plausible deniability. From a distance, it looks like spring water. "Don't believe I've ever had mead," he said, reflectively. "Sounds like it'd be like drinking straight sek-syrup."

"Oh, no," I said. "It's really very good. And some meads aren't sweet at all," I said. "You might want to try their Reserve, should you happen to walk down there."

Marcus, standing behind the Arch-Mage, was appropriately garbed as a mage-apprentice and maintaining-- for once--perfect demeanor. Today Marcus was featuring a closely-trimmed beard, a hooded cowl, and an aura of abject innocence. Fool. If Savos Aren knew about the Sanctum, I could guess where that knowledge had come from. Unless-- well, there was Nadine. And I could see Drevis Neloren, resting his elbows on our fence-rail. He did not want to be here. I frowned to myself. Marcus likes secrets too much to give them up so easily. He had told me that he had not-- thank Auriel!-- followed through with his threats about what he would do to Brynjolf in Riften. I think it amused him too much to keep that little story to himself. I still have not determined how Marcus has managed all of that hissing in Brynjolf's ear, and of course Marcus will not tell me.

I moved from group to group, cautiously keeping watch on this morning's volatile admixture of guests, but so far everyone appeared to be maintaining civility.

I cleared my throat as I passed behind Ingun Black-Briar. "She's my _sister_ ," I hissed. 

Ingun raised an elegant dark brow at me and she and Ysolda went back to their unseemly speculation, in regards to what a First Emissary might do during those long winter nights they have up in Haafingar. "A lot of wine-drinking, actually," I said, annoyed with them. " _Nothing else_. She's a widow. Of a war hero. Show some respect." The two of them continued to giggle as I stalked away, flicking my mantle back into place. I wasn't looking where I was going. 

Oh, no.

"I'm so disappointed," said Elenwen, silkily. "I thought for certain I'd see your householders here today." Her eyes glinted malice. Both Ahtar and Erdi had been in society, as they say, during their time at the Blue Palace, at around the time that Elenwen had been appointed First Emissary. But to me, Elenwen liked to pretend that she'd never heard of them. Probably for the best. "Are you still keeping the two of them around?" she wanted to know.

"They're out on business," I advised. "Our business." This was true. The errands I had sent them on were Thalmor-related.

"What a pity," Elenwen said. "I was looking forward to meeting them." She drank her spring water.

"I needed to use trusted people," I said, defensively. True. "And to me, the situation seemed urgent." Truuue, but only if parsed carefully. It had indeed felt rather urgent that I send Ahtar and Erdi away on some errand; any errand, so long as it was far away from Elysium whilst the Thalmor and especially-my-sister were present. In fact, Erdi was just across the Rift's border into Morrowind. Ahtar was also out of the province altogether, as that had seemed the most advisable. It was the best I could do at short notice.

"Who is that tall blonde lady over there?" Elenwen murmured. "She's very striking."

"That would be Astrid," I said. "One of the local guildmasters. She's in charge of our security for this evening, so unfortunately not available for conversation." I had seen Astrid exchange a cool nod with the ever-watchful Brelas, earlier. I hadn't needed Astrid's elbow to my ribs. I know very well what diffident little Brelas is, and take care to always keep her in my line of sight.

Now the First Emissary wanted to know: Which guild? Now that was an awkward question. I could not recall whether or not the Thalmor had been responsible for the purge of the Dark Brotherhood from Cyrodiil, so... better safe than sorry.

"Some kind of mercenary guild," I said. "But they do other work. Can't recall the name offhand. Small but well-reputed. The big fellow over there, the shaggy one, he's from the Companions, probably the most famous of these Nord guilds... so is the girl with the short pigtails and facepaint. Equally well-recommended." I shrugged. "I've got a few other people out in the moorlands and along the road," I said. "As well as at the stables. I hired the Thieves' Guild to watch your baggage just to be certain that nobody'd try to get funny."

"Cyrelian!" scolded the First Emissary gently. "We do _not_ use military cant! And mind your demeanor!" Just then the Jarl of Whiterun came in through the gate. This caught her attention, and she moved on towards new prey. Thank the gods.

Danica Pure-Spring got all of the extraneous guests rounded up for a tour of the city's Temple of Kynareth. I hoped she would keep it interesting. We were running late.

Back at Elysium, I changed into a very impressive set of dress blacks-- how had they brought these things all the way down from the Embassy without a wrinkle? I suspected an enchantment. Elenwen is constantly accusing me of being deliberately scruffy, to annoy her. This is true. But today I had been shaved and plucked and pecked at and even my hair had been wrested into some kind of inoffensive shape, Ingun Black-Briar taking the Sanctum's revenge with her fingertips. Ow.

The various Thalmor rituals went off without a hitch and rank was conferred, and so on. None of this is very exciting to outsiders. My knees still hurt. After all of this folderol and nonsense, it was time for me to go inside and re-don my College of Winterhold attire, and ensure everything was set up for the Adept ceremony.

Proventus Avenicci and his daughter were standing at the buffet table, nibbling on some of the kwama eggs on toast points; Hrongar was nearby, debating with them the merits of the Honningbrew Reserve versus the cyzer we would be starting to see in the fall. He thought Honningbrew's cyzer generally too sweet. I made a mental note to acquire some. Nazeem was in his element, having buttonholed Mirabelle Ervine. She stood with both hands on her cup, smiling fixedly whilst Nazeem expounded on the virtues of his exceedingly superior gardening methods. I couldn't tell whether he was merely boasting, or trying to set up some contract to sell produce. Well, if his orchards and vegetable-plots are as excellent as his flower gardens had been, I mused, Mirabelle would do well to pay attention. The College of Winterhold could always use another supplier.

I glanced at the shadows. In a quarter hour or so I would rescue the good Dean of Students, but not before that. I was still seething over the conversation wherein she had advised me that I was going to be saddled with Drevis Neloren as my next term's instructor.

The mer himself was at the far corner of Elysium's boundary-fence, looking off onto the moorland, and not-coincidentally standing about as far away from the Thalmor as he could physically get. Savos Aren had given up on trying to draw him back to his group. "If you're not feeling quite the thing," I said to Drevis. "Why not go up to the temple tonight with Danica's party instead of hanging around for the mill-and-swill with the rest of us? Nadine's food is good-- but no food's good enough to justify putting up with all of this." I indicated the Thalmor tents with my chin. 

He looked at me, a bit suspiciously.

"I doubt for myself that I will be eating very much, either," I confided, under my breath. It was true, my nerves were alight, and probably would be for some days.

Drevis Neloren's lips twitched back in what was not a smile.

"Go on," I said. "I'll make your excuses." 

He cleared his throat. "After the ceremony," he said, quietly. "If I don't stay for that, there'll be trouble with the Arch-Mage."

As for the senior Dunmer, he appeared to be having the time of his life. Savos was talking to Ingun Black-Briar, with great relish, about traditional methods of assassination via poison, amongst the Great Houses of Morrowind. "Mother won't let me go away to study Alchemy," she was saying, sadly. "I'm supposed to be attending court and being out in public with her but it's just a waste of my time. No one ever asks me to do anything." And she had already gleaned all that she could from Elgrim. No more to be learned there. I thought that the Arch-Mage would offer to spirit her away; but he surprised me--he suggested a correspondence course. Perhaps Marcus could be relied upon as courier? The Arch-Mage could easily make a portal to Riften-- he adored it when two young people had so much in common! 

Marcus and Ingun mirrored a delicate grimace of distaste. Ah. They had met.

\--

The ceremony itself was blessedly brief.

It did not rain. I did not faint. Danica Pure-Spring did not fail to confer upon me my Adept rank in the discipline of Restoration Magick, though a certain set to her mouth suggested that perhaps she'd heard more about my little prank than I could have wished.

And once it was done, the guests were free to mingle again and come and go as they pleased, with the great buffet now being brought out and placed upon the great tables set along the east wall of our yard, the large beehive shape of Nadine's pièce de résistance-- excuse me, pièce montée-- holding pride of place perched high above all of the savory dishes.

"We're never getting all of our plates back," I said to Nadine, watching as Drevis, for one, carried a plate along with him as he went up the road towards Whiterun, still munching away.

"Leased them," Nadine said, confidently. "From the Thieves' Guild. I don't know where Brynjolf got them from, and I don't care to ask. But, they've been gathering dust for a couple of decades now-- they never sold-- so he thought, why not put them to use?" She looked out over the crowd, most of whom were not straying far from the table. "Do you think it's all right?" she wondered. "I wasn't so certain about the roast pork."

"Everything seems well in order," I told her. "It's a remarkable feast-- and as for the pork, everyone's been sniffing the air and commenting on it all afternoon. From what I could see from here, the great platter looked to be already half-denuded.

"You haven't eaten any of it," she said, doubtfully.

I winced a little. "Honestly? I had a little wine. I don't think I can manage anything else right now."

"You should eat," Nadine told me severely, with her brows coming forward in that delightful little v. I let myself be chivvied forward, and installed into a chair with a drink in my hand and a plate of food in my lap.

I must have eaten it, but I don't recall doing so, which is a great pity.

\--

At one point in the evening I became belatedly aware that Nazeem had not tried to engage me in conversation, at all. That was odd. I usually let him babble away at me. It's good practice. Otherwise who knew what would obtain, once I return to Alinor and have to deal with the endless natterings of the old people. I am known to be somewhat impatient and quick-tempered. But I have no real issue with Nazeem. His conversation is wholly harmless.

I did see that Ondolemar was getting that look upon his face, so I thought I'd better intervene. I drifted over. 

Nazeem regarded me, his mouth closed to a flat grim line. He had stopped talking, which was beyond unusual.

I began to feel a sense of foreboding. 

Ahlam was walking along the garden path near us, pointing out something about the rosebush to a mage-student, her beautiful hands moving quickly and with great animation. The three of us watched her go.

Abruptly Nazeem nodded:"Congratulations on your Adept rank," he said, flatly, and took a drink of his mead. And, with quiet venom: "Don't think I don't know."

Ondolemar looked at me, startled.

"Commander?" I said. "I think the First Emissary needed your opinion on something, if you'd be so kind." 

I made a gesture with my chin: Go. Ondolemar nodded and went away at once. I could see that he had an ear swiveled back towards us.

I sighed. "Honestly? You're going to blame me, and not your wife? It's just as much her fault as it is mine." I regarded him. "More so. I'm not married to you. She's the one who knew it would upset you. And I had no idea on Nirn that you were going to have a problem with it!"

Nazeem snorted. He tipped the lees of his cup into the grass and went on back towards the house.

\--

"Have you seen Commander Ondolemar?" Elenwen asked me. I joined her for a last turn around the garden. "I thought he might be at the hot-spring, but--"

I held up my hands. "I wouldn't go looking," I advised. "I heard him talking Mede military tactics with Commander Caius, and I couldn't get away from them fast enough. Dull as sand. They were saying something about maybe going up to Dragonsreach to look at some old maps."

In fact I had last seen Ondolemar being towed away towards the Khajiit camp by a certain scion of the Black-Briar family and a copper-headed wench with a ponytail, the three of them whispering together and laughing. He'd mouthed the words "You dog," to me, with a conspiratorial wink. I let it go.

Elenwen allowed herself a little moue, by which I deduced that she had her suspicions about the Commander's absence-- and that she wasn't about to intervene.

"You have such lovely rosebushes," she said to me, and the full-bloom flowers turned towards her at the sound of her voice. "And they interact! However did you get them to come to bloom so early in the year?"

I shrugged. "I had help," I said. "Are your quarters to your satisfaction?"

"Oh, yes," she said. "Everything is quite in order." Her attention drifted away from me, towards the buffet table. "I find myself wondering what's for breakfast."

"Don't worry. If nothing else, I had them put back some of the rice pudding."

The First Emissary smiled. "How kind of you," she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> June 12: Rose. Beautiful flowers with painful thorns. Beautiful yellow roses, that turn to look at you when you pass. Such lovely flowers. Such familiar-looking lovely flowers...that look just like the ones a certain expatriate Redguard might have entered in a garden competition last week.
> 
> You dog, Cyr.


End file.
